if  IS 

B*    imK 

t 


"   \- 


r 


0&  6^&-^    , 

M«L.^:&e-       fc*>7./^ 


His  glance  fell  upon  her  motionless    figure  stretched  upon  the 
carpet. — Page  157. 


DANE   WALRAVEN. 

(A  TALE  OF  OLD  BOSTON.) 


BT 

LUMAN    ALLEN, 

AUTHOR    OF    "LUCIA    LASCAK,"     "PHARAOH'S  TREASURE," 
"HELENE    SAINTE    MAUR,"    ETC. 


CHICAGO: 

DONOHUE,  HENtfEBERRY  &  CO., 
1892. 


COPYKIGHT,    1892, 
BY 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I               The  Burning  of  the  Armadillo 7 

ii.             The  Fate  of  Walter  Walraven 13 

III.  Joel  Thorp  and  the  Skipper  Disagree 18 

IV.  Captain  Bardell's  Strange  Visitor 23 

V.  A  Reptile  Character .- 28 

VI.  Captain  Bardell's  Courtship 33 

VII.  Sequel  to  a  Drive  on  the  Lynn  Beach 39 

VIII.  The  Betrothal 45 

IX.  "I'll  put  a  Scorpion  in  his  Nest" 52 

X.  The  Thorp  Family  on  Copp's  Hill 58 

XI.  An  Oath  of  Vengeance  Sealed 65 

XII.  The  Marshal's  Visit  to  the  Asylum 72 

XIII.  Charley  Vincent's  Story 78 

XIV.  The  Boyleston  Burial-Ground  Robbers 83 

XV.  The  Grave-Diggers  at  Chestnut  Hill 89 

XVI.  The  Ransom  of  a  Dead  Man 94 

XVII.  The  Abduction  of  Dane  "Walraven 99 

XVIII.  The  Flight  of  a  Suspected   Wife 105 

XIX.  On  the  Track  of  the  Kidnappers Ill 

XX.  Joel  Thorp  is  Brought  to  Bay 119 

XXI.  Dane  Walraven  Restored 124 

XXII.  Found— A  Wife  and  Daughter 130 

XXIII.  Doctor  Tom  Pelham 136 

XXIV      Captain  Bardell  plays  no  more  Whist 142 

XXV.  A  Deathbed  Warning— "Beware  of  Him" 148 

XXVI.  he  Confession  of  Silas  Thorp 154 

XXVII.  The  Honeymoon— Walraven  House 161 

XXVIII.  Eugenie  St.   Leger 167 

XXIX.  The  Study  of  a  Fascinating  Woman 172 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XXX.  Reverend  Ebenezer  Doolittle  Meeting  the  Enemy. .  178 

XXXI.  A  Rescue— Miss  Agnes  Blount,  a  "49er" 183 

XXXII.  The  Shadow  Falls 189 

XXXIII.  The  Hut  in   the    "New   Forest"— A  Tempted 

Husband 196 

XXXIV.  "To-morrow,   He  shall  be  all  Mine!" 202 

XXXV.  The  Fall  of   Dane  Walraven 208 

XXXVI.  "  Your  Mistress  is  Dead ! " 215 

XXXVII.  In  a  Shroud  and  Cowl' of  Gray— The   Wreck 

of  a  Tomb— The  Burning  Pyre 221 

XXXVIII.In  London:  The  House  in  South  Lambert 226 

XXXIX.  To  Dane— A  Message  from  the   Tomb 232 

XL.          Parting  of  Dane  and  Eugenie 236 

XLI.         Story  of  Eugenie  St.  Leger 243 

XLII.       Agnes  and  her   "  Original  Dolly " 249 

XLIII.      The  Woman  in  the  Shroud  of  Gray 255 

XLIV.      Vesuvius,   and  the  Bay  of  Naples 262 

XLV.       Grand    Canal  of  Venice — Silas  Thorp's   Message  269 

XLVI.      The  Hiss  of  a  Serpent 274 

XLVI1.    Again  the  Shroud  of  Gray! 278 

XL VIII.  The  Box    in  Number  26  Rue  du  Mail 283 

XLIX.      A  Letter  of  Revelation  for  Dane  Walraven 288 

L.  The  "  Three  Candlesticks,  "  at  Auxerre 293 

LI.  What  Befell  Silas  Thorp  in  the  Jura  Mountains  299 

LII.          The  Figure  on  the   "Black  Rock" 304 

LIII.        Look  on  this  Picture,  Reader,  then— Adieu 311 


DANE  WALRAVEN 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  BURNING  OF  THE  ARMADILLO 

"  Out  on  the  deep  there  rcse  upon  the  night 
The  moan  of  nether  winds  let  loose;  a  light 
'Scaped  from  some  Hadean  flood;  a  voice 
Proclaiming  havoc.1'  — The  Conspirators. 

On  the  morning  of  October  29,  1829,  the  waters  of 
Boston  Harbor  were  of  a  milk-white  hue;  on  the  same 
night  they  were  of  the  hue  of  blood. 

With  the  dawn  of  that  disastrous  day  one  of  the 
most  terrific  storms  that  ever  swept  the  coast  of  New 
England  had  come  rolling  down  from  the  north  to  hold 
high  carnival  in  Massachusetts  Bay. 

From  Charles  River  Bridge,  on  the  north  of  the 
city,  to  the  south  end  as  far  as  India  Wharf,  the  white 
waves  surged  and  thundered  all  day,  in  unison  with 
the  diapason  of  infernal  winds,  whose  shrieks  com- 
mingled with  those  of  the  sea-gull  passing  out  of  the 
track  of  the  tempest. 

At  the  extreme  north  end  of  the  peninsula,  where 
Lynn  and  Lyon  streets  converged  to  a  point,  the 
bounding  surf,  flung  high  into  the  darkling  air,  resem- 
bled a  perpetual  cascade  of  foam  upon  the  verge  of  a 


8  DANE    WALRAVEN 

maelstrom.  Shipping  was  rent  piecemeal,  churned 
into  fragments,  buried  under  the  monster  waves  that 
hurled  themselves  upon  it  with  the  momentum  of  fall- 
ing mountains. 

The  city  itself  was  shaken  as  if  in  the  throes  of  an 
earthquake;  huge  chimneys  were  thrown  down,  hoary 
elms  were  twisted  from  their  trunks  and  flung  upon 
the  deluged  streets,  while  at  intervals  a  falling  wall 
told  the  awed  citizens  that  havoc  was  in  their  midst, 
and  Death  seeking  for  victims.  At  noon  all  traffic  on 
the  streets  and  on  the  wharves  was  totally  suspended. 
A  sober  twilight  gave  unnatural  coloring  to  every  ob- 
ject upon  which  it  rested,  parted  and  seamed  by  in- 
terminable lightnings. 

When  at  length  the  night  settled  down,  the  north 
end  of  the  peninsula  was  apparently  deserted  — except 
by  those  who  had  sought  refuge  inside  the  houses. 

Nothing  was  now  heard  save  the  roar  of  the  surf 
rolling  down  from  the  north  over  the  island  rocks, 
and  the  incessant  moan  of  the  wind,  as  it  pursued  the 
leaping  waters. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  a  large  three-mast 
vessel  was  observed  far  out  in  the  bay,  heading  la- 
boriously toward  the  river  entrance.  Sometimes  it 
seemed  to  rise  into  the  air,  as  if  thrown  upward  by 
some  mountain  swell;  again  it  would  sink  into  a  trough 
of  the  sea  until  it  was  almost  invisible.  Gradually  it 
came  nearer  and  nearer,  halting  often  in  its  laboring 
course,  but  pointing  always  toward  the  same  goal. 

At  'length  an  old  seaman's  eye  made  out  a  name 
upon  its  pennant  (which  was  fast  becoming  tatters) 
and  read  to  a  group  of  tars — 


DANE    WALRAVEN  9 

» 

"Armadillo,  Liverpool." 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  ship  was  driven  like  a 
paper  toy  by  the  force  of  the  hurricane  into  the  mouth 
of  Charles  River.  No  landing  could  be  effected,  and 
no  boat  put  off  from  the  ship  that  day.  Silent  and 
dark,  it  lay  rocking  in  the  arms  of  the  tempest,  its 
pennant  torn  into  ribbons,  its  dismantled  masts  broken 
off,  its  decks  washed  by  the  billows  of  the  hungry  sea. 

Night  at  last  crept  down  upon  the  ship,  hiding  it 
as  in  the  folds  of  a  shroud  from  the  thousands  of  eyes 
that  all  day  had  watched  it  from  the  shelter  of  houses 
and  wharves. 

Far  down  in  the  city  a  bell  was  tolling  faintly  nine 
slow  strokes;  but  the  storm  still  hurtled  through  the 
streets  and  whipped  the  sea  with  the  same  awful,  mo- 
notonous fury. 

The  blackness  of  the  night  at  this  hour  was  appall- 
ing. 

Suddenly,  at  the  spot  where  the  ship  was  last  seen 
riding  the  billows,  a  bright  tongue  of  flame  darted  up 
out  of  the  vortex.  Smothered  by  the  invading  waves, 
beaten  down  by  the  bombarding  winds,  it  disappeared; 
but  the  next  instant  it  again  leaped  forth,  a  fiery  rift 
in  a  wall  of  blackness. 

Then,  as  the  dark  hull  of  the  vessel  loomed  above 
the  curling  waves,  the  faint  sound  of  a  bell  mingled 
with  the  voices  of  the  storm.  An  ominous  boom  rolled 
over  the  waters — another — and  then  the  river  changed 
its  inky  hue  to  a  dull  red. 

What  transpired  on  the  ship  during  that  next  hour 
of  terror  we  learn  from  the  note-book  of  its  captain, 


IO  DANE    WALRAVEV 

Howard  Bardell,  the  only  one  of  the    ship's  company, 
except  the  ship's  carpenter,  who  was  saved. 

Here  are  the  last  pages  of  the  skipper's  journal: 

All  hands  were  assembled  at  quarters  by  the  bugle, 
followed  by  the  pipe — 

"Fire  brigade,  rig  pumps!" 

As  soon  as  the  men  were  assembled  (and  a  grue- 
some lot  of  faces  they  brought  with  them)  the  guns 
were  run  in  and  the  ports  lowered.  Then  I  com- 
manded the  men  to  stand  quiet. 

"The  fire  is  in  a  bad  nest,  my  hearties,"  I  said;  "it 
is  in  the  hold,  among  the  oils,  and  it  will  be  hard  to 
get  at.  But  you  are  brave  fellows,  and  British  sea- 
men; and  if  the  Armadillo  can  be  saved,  you  will  save 
her. " 

Then  the  poor  fellows,  who  were  doomed  as  surely 
as  was  our  good  ship,  sent  up  a  shout  that  drowned 
the  howl  of  the  wind  and  the  uproar  of  the  waters — 

"We'll  do  it,  captain!  We'll  stand  by  the  old  ship, 
sir!" 

Ah,  my  heart  swelled  as  though  it  would  crack  my 
ribs,  as  I  looked  at  the  lads.  There  were  tears  under 
my  eyelids,  too,  which  the  lads  didn't  see. 

Well,  the  port  watch  had  been  piped  to  the  pumps 
and  the  starboard  watch  had  fallen  in  on  the  upper 
deck.  In  a  jiffy,  the  port  watch  were  at  work,  and 
I  heard  many  a  groan  fiom  the  men,  as  they  realized 
how  serious  it  was;  but  there  was  no  confusion. 

The  hatchways  were  covered ;  and  some  of  the 
forecastle  men  were  sent  to  lower  canvas  screens,  so 
as  to  stop  all  draught-holes  below. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  II 

In  another  minute,  a  part  of  the  starboard  watch 
had  the  hammocks  out,  and  were  sousing  the  bedding. 
At  this  some  of  the  simple  lads  grumbled  a  bit;  not 
knowing  (as  I  did,  God  help  them!)  that  they  would 
sleep  that  night  in  a  wetter  bed — below  the  keel. 

The  beds  were  passed  down  to  the  fire,  although  I 
knew  it  was  of  precious  little  use.  Still,  nothing  is 
impossible,  at  sea;  and  besides,  it  is  not  for  the  skip- 
per to  rob  his  crew  of  hope,  or  lose  it  himself. 

So,  my  voice  was  cheery,  when  I  gave  the  next  or- 
ders, if  it  was  a  bit  hoarse — 

"Shorten  saiJJ" 

"Out,   boats!  " 

What  was  running  in  my  head  at  that  moment,  to 
move  me  to  give  the  first  of  these  two  orders,  I  am 
not  able  to  tell.  It  was  so  ludicrous,  so  absurd,  that 
the  lads  laughed,  and  their  spirits  rose,  at  the  skip- 
per's sorry  joke.  For,  you  see,  the  masts  were  stubs, 
and  there  was  not  in  sight  a  loose  piece  of  sail  big 
enough  to  make  a  shroud  for  the  powder-boy. 

The  fire  was  now  all  above  and  below,  and  the  tim- 
bers were  hot  and  cracked  anon,  and  the  wind,  like 
the  breath  of  ten  thousand  devils,  fanned  and  coaxed 
the  flames  in  every  part  of  the  ship.  So,  then,  I  took 
the  keys  of  the  magazine  flooding-cocks,  and  sent  for 
the  gunner.  I  knew,  now,  that  Davy  Jones  or  Moloch 
was  waiting  for  us,  and  I  swore  to  myself  that  at  least 
we  would  go  down  with  sound  and  whole  bodies,  and 
not  in  pieces. 

In  the  meantime,  I  had  directed  senior  marine  officer 
Falmouth  to  post  sentries  on  the  spirit-rooms,  store- 


12  DANE    WALRAVEN 

rooms,  and  quarter-boats.  Then  I  gave  the  order 
which  the  commander  of  a  ship  is  always  willing  to 
leave  to  the  last — 

"Master-at-Arms,  release  prisoners!" 

Ah,  God  forgive  me,  if  I  sometimes  wish  I  had 
given  that  order  too  late! 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   FATE   OF  WALTER  WALRAVEN 

Now  we  had  but  two  prisoners  in  the  "Armadillo" 
when  we  entered  port.  And,  it  being  the  case  that 
this  part  of  my  log  has  been  left  unwritten  for  a  very 
long  time,  and  that  since  the  burning  of  the  ship  many 
strange  and  some  sorrowful  things  have  happened, 
growing  out  of  that  proper  and  merciful  but  all  the 
same  fatal  order  to  release  prisoners,  it  behooves  me 
to  leave  a  record  of  the  events  that  occurred  on  board 
concerning  those  two  prisoners,  and  some  others. 

When  we  sailed  from  Liverpool,  the  ship's  carpen- 
ter was  laid  up  in  port,  and  had  to  be  left  behind. 
By  chance  or  contrivance,  I  know  not  which,  two  fel- 
lows who  had  been  running  a  barge  on  Solway  Firth, 
brought  letters  to  me  just  then  from  the  landlord  of 
the  Royal  Inn  at  Carlisle,  the  old  cathedral  town  in 
Cumberland,  England,  giving  the  information  that 
one  was  a  good  carpenter,  and  the  other  a  good  sailor, 
with  nothing  known  against  either  of  them.  The  car- 
penter was  named  Joel  Thorp,  and  he  had  with  him 
his  son,  a  fine-looking  lad  of  fourteen,  and  his  daugh- 
ter, a  good-looking  lass  of  sixteen.  He  himself  was 
an  evil-faced  fellow,  very  sullen-mannered  and  skulk- 
ing, but  to  this  I  paid  little  attention  then.  He  wanted 

13 


14  DANE    WALRAVEN 

to  emigrate  to  America,  and  was  willing  to  work  his 
passage  and  that  of  his  two  children. 

The  other  fellow  was  as  ill-favored  as  Thorp,  and  I 
shall,  for  reasons  that  will  hereafter  appear,  give  a 
very  particular  description  of  him.  He  was  about  five 
feet  eight  inches  in  height,  with  broad  and  square 
shoulders,  flat  chest  and  back,  heavy  jaws,  and 
straight,  long  chin,  a  straight  and  always  closed  mouth, 
on  which  was  a  perpetual  smile  like  that  of  a  demon's, 
deep-set  black  eyes  under  lids  that  were  always  low- 
ered, as  though  he  feared  his  evil  soul  might  be  seen 
if  he  unveiled,  black,  straight  hair,  cut  close  to  a  long 
head.  His  body  was  bent  forward  from  the  waist  in 
walking,  and  his  step  was  like  that  of  a  panther, 
quick  and  gliding.  All  these  details  escaped  me  at 
the  time,  but  later  they  were  but  too  clearly  impressed 
upon  my  sight  and  memory.  The  name  of  this  man 
was  James  Crouch;  and  he,  too,  wanted  to  emigrate. 

Well,  I  took  them  both;  and  the  day  they  came 
aboard  we  sailed  out  of  the  Mersey,  bound  for  a  port 
that  only  two  of  the  ship's  company  ever  reached. 

We  had  on  board  a  Mr.  Walter  Walraven  and  his  lit- 
tle son,  Dane,  who  were  coming  to  Boston  to  remain, 
though  hailing  from  Hampshire,  in  the  extreme  south 
of  England,  where,  hard  by  the  most  venerable  and 
ancient  town  of  Winchester,  was  situated  Walraven 
House,  the  manorial  estate  of  the  family  for  some  gen- 
erations, but  which  Mr.  W.  had  sold,  having  lost  his 
beautiful  and  worth}7  lady  the  year  before  under  ex- 
traordinary and  painful  circumstances,  and  finding  too 
many  mournful  associations  in  the  vicinity  of  his 


DANE    WALRAVEN  15 

English  home.  I  had  known  him  for  several  years 
back,  having  met  him  and  his  wife  at  Greystoke  Park, 
the  country  seat  of  my  relative,  near  Penrith,  hard  by 
Carlisle,  in  the  south  of  England,  they  having  been 
frequent  visitors  to  old  Cumberland.  It  was  there, 
indeed,  that  his  wife  met,  or  was  supposed  to  have 
met,  her  death. 

Mr.  Walraven  was  a  tall,  finely-featured  gentleman, 
of  about  forty,  of  a  very  rare  and  splendid  blonde 
type,  and  the  lad  (who  was  three  years  and  three 
days  old  on  the  day  we  entered  Boston  Harbor)  was 
a  wee  image  of  him.  He  had  brought  with  him  a 
strong  and  curiously  made  mahogany  box,  with  a  brass 
handle  to  carry  it  by,  and  bound  around  the  corners 
with  brass,  and  with  double  locks.  It  had  been  stowed 
in  his  state-room,  and  was  quite  heavy;  so  I  was  not 
surprised  when  the  second  day  out  he  came  to  me  and 
said: 

"Captain,  I  wish,  as  a  precaution,  to  inform  you 
that  the  box  I  brought  aboard  contains  all  my  fortune, 
twenty  thousand  pounds  sterling,  in  English  gold. 
My  boy  (pointing  to  the  yellow-haired  little  chap 
with  a  look  of  affectionate  pride)  is  my  only  heir; 
and  as  I  have  known  you  well,  and  possess  your  friend- 
ship, I  have  made  you  my  executor,  and  Dane's 
guardian  if  the  need  for  one  should  come." 

Ah,  how  soon  the  need  came!  How  we  both  joked 
over  the  matter,  and  drank  a  foaming  glass  or  two  in 
the  cabin,  where  he  told  me  all  that  and  more,  while 
the  blue  eyes  of  the  lad  danced  with  delight  at  the 
notion  of  having  the  captain  of  a  big  ship  for  his 


1 6  DANE    WALRAVEN 

second  papa!  Fine  plans  we  laid  then,  and  some  of 
them  have  come  to  pass — but  the  way  to  them  was 
over  the  grave  of  Dane's  "first"  father. 

Well,  we  had  just  crossed  the  line  of  the  Dublin 
and  Bristol  packets  when  that  mahogany  box  began 
to  give  trouble.  Was  there  ever,  I  wonder,  a  case 
where  a  man  kept  his  own  without  a  fight  for  it?  I 
do  not  believe  so.  Anyhow,  Mr.  Walraven's  gold 
brought  on  a  fight,  and  a  good  many  bad  consequences 
have  followed.  God  knows  what  further  trouble  is  to 
come  of  it — but  I  am  spinning  much  too  long  a  yarn, 
maybe,  so  I'll  begin  to  furl. 

The  Thorp  boy  had  acquired  a  habit  of  mousing 
around  the  rooms  of  the  officers,  and  particularly  that 
of  Mr.  Walraven.  I  was  not  exactly  suspicious  that 
he  was  after  any  meanness,  but  didn't  like  it.  Several 
times  I  sent  him  below,  upon  finding  him  where  he 
had  no  business,  and  one  day  as  he  was  prowling  in 
the  steward's  room  aft,  I  took  him  by  the  collar  of  his 
jacket,  and  cuffed  him  soundly. 

Now,  Mr.  Walraven  had  told  no  one  but  myself  of 
the  secret  treasury  he  had  in  his  state-room,  but  the 
boy  Silas  was  at  the  time  hanging  about  the  cabin, 
and  it  is  certain,  from  what  happened  on  the  night  be- 
fore we  rounded  the  headland  in  Massachusetts  Bay, 
that  Silas  had  been  eavesdropping,  and  had  heard 
the  communication  made  to  me.  Anyhow,  that  night, 
just  before  dark,  it  appears,  he  crept  into  Mr.  Wai- 
raven's  room,  and  carried  off  the  box  and  hid  it  below, 
under  some  tarpaulin  junk.  Then  he  sought  his 
father,  who  was  waiting  near  a  stanchion,  and  whis- 


DANE    WALRAVEN  17 

pered  what  he  had  done,  and  pointed  to  the  spot 
where  he  had  secreted  the  box. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  little  Dane,  a  pet  with  all 
the  crew  as  well  as  with  all  the  officers  of  the  ship, 
had  been  taken  below  by  one  of  the  sailors,  to  gratify 
his  childish  curiosity,  and  was  playing  about  some 
bales  of  wool  when  Silas  came  down  with  the  box. 
Unobserved  by  the  young  thief,  Dane  saw  it  placed 
under  the  junk;  and  as  soon  as  he  was  taken  above, 
his  childish  instinct  led  him  to  his  father  with  the 
important  fact  that — 

"The  man  with  the  crooked  fingers,  and  his  boy, 
had  taken  the  pretty  box  down  there,  and  hid  it  away." 

Of  course  Mr.  Walraven  hurried  to  his  room,  and 
sure  enough  the  box  was  gone.  I  was  hastily  called, 
and  summoned  the  master-at-arms  and  a  sailor,  and 
we  all  descended  together,  taking  Dane  with  us.  The 
boy  Silas  was  in  the  vicinity  of  the  loot,  probably  to 
watch  it;  the  intention  and  the  hope  being,  of  course, 
to  get  off  from  the  ship  in  ..a  boat  with  it  before  the 
next  morning,  and  make  for  some  other  point  on  the 
coast. 


CHAPTER  III 

JOEL  THORP  AND  THE  SKIPPER  DISAGREE 

"There  is  the  bad  boy!" 

That  was  little  Dane's  exclamation,  the  moment  he 
got  sight  of  Silas,  and  the  latter,  betraying  his  guilt 
on  the  spot,  skipped  away,  no  doubt  to  warn  his  father 
that  the  job  had  been  discovered. 

Then  Dane  ran  to  the  old  tarpaulin,  and  attempted 
to  drag  it  off  the  box.  We  were  moving  toward  it, 
also,  when  we  heard  a  sudden  rush  of  feet  coming 
from  the  hatches  aft,  and  the.  next  minute  we  were 
attacked  by  Thorp  and  his  son,  and  the  man  Crouch, 
each  of  them  having  in  his  hands  a'  marline-spike 
which  was  raised  over  us  with  the  very  evident  inten- 
tion of  braining  us.  Fortunately,  each  of  my  party 
had  a  pistol,  and  myself  and  the  master-at-arms  carried 
each  a  cutlass;  otherwise,  the  wretches  would  have 
made  brief  work  of  it,  for  there  was  no  one  in  sight 
to  help  us, 

We  laid  to,  without  any  parley,  you  can  be  sure; 
and  soon  had  the  desperate  thieves  down. 

The  lad  was  only  scratched  a  little;  the  fellow 
Crouch  had  two  of  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand  cut  off 
in  trying  to  grasp  my  cutlass;  and  Thorp  had  lost  his 
left  eye  by  a  blow  which  I  was  obliged  to  deal  him 
with  the  handle  of  my  weapon.  He  fell  down  with  a, 

18 


DANE    WALRAVEN  IQ 

screech  that  was  devilish.  Indeed,  his  rage  was  ter- 
rible, and  the  sight  of  his  naturally  ugly  and  now  dis- 
figured and  bloody  face  was  hideous. 

Thorp  was  not  vanquished  yet,  however:  for  no 
sooner  was  he  manacled  and  lifted  to  his  feet,  than 
he  aimed  a  murderous  blow  at  my  head,  striking  me 
severely  with  the  irons  on  his  hands.  For  this,  I  or- 
dered him  to  be  taken  on  deck  and  twenty  lashes 
given  him;  which  was  done  with  more  than  good-will, 
and  I  really  had  some  difficulty  in  preventing  the  men 
from  throwing  the  fellow  overboard.  His  bare  back, 
bleeding,  and  his  face  in  a  bloody  state  also,  he  looked, 
as  it  was,  pretty  badly  done  up. 

The  Thorp  boy  and  girl,  during  this  scene,  acted 
like  young  demons,  howling  with  rage  and  terror,  and 
attacking  the  sailors  who  had  their  father  in  tow,  un- 
til it  became  necessary  to  give  the  boy  a  light  drub- 
bing, and  to  tie  both  of  the  two  and  lock  them  up. 
At  daylight  they  were  let  out. 

After  Joel  Thorp's  wounds  were  dressed,  I  directed 
him  to  be  taken  to  a  cell,  and  the  same  direction  had 
disposed  of  Crouch.  As  Thorp  was  being  dragged 
away,  he  turned  his  head  toward  me,  with  a  tigerish 
glare  in  his  one  steel-blue  eye,  and — 

"I'll  remember  ye— curse  ye!"  he  yelled;  "an' I'll  pay 
ye  for  this  an'  for  all  — for  all,  d'ye  understand?"  (But 
I  didn't  understand,  though  I  think  I  do  understand 
now — somewhat)  "An'  I'll  remember  the  kid,  curse  him! 
Oh,  ye've  only  whetted  my  teeth  by  this,  curse  ye, 
curse  ye!" 

And  that  was  the  situation  when  we  came  into  the 
harbor. 


2O  DANE    WALRAVEN 

That  night  the  fire  came;  and  I  believe  it  was  the 
boy  Silas  that  set  the  Armadillo  in  a  blaze.  I  did  not 
give  a  thought  to  the  cause  of  the  fire  then,  but  I 
gave  given  it  many  a  thought  since,  and  my  black  sus- 
picions run  to  the  boy,  in  spite  of  me. 

Well,  I  gave  the  order  to  release  prisoners;  and  the 
men  were  brought  up,  the  irons  taken  off,  and  they 
were  allowed  to  go  about  as  freely  as  the  rest,  that 
they  might  have  a  chance  for  their  lives,  when  the 
moment  to  fight  for  them  should  come. 

That  moment  was  coming  fast. 

We  could  not  land,  on  account  of  the  storm.  And 
while  we  looked  into  that  seething  whirlpool  of  blood- 
red  waters  whose  thousand  black  mouths  were  opening 
all  around  us,  and  while  the  land  loomed  close  at 
hand  as  though  to  torture  us  by  the  sight  of  it,  the 
stanch  ship  of  which  I  was  part  owner  and  in  which 
I  had  sailed  many  a  prosperous  voyage,  was  burned 
to  the  water-line.  Every  soul  of  the  crew  went  down 
except  the  carpenter  and  the  boom-tricer  Crouch;  all 
the  officers  except  myself  were  lost.  1  got  the  passen- 
gers in  a  boat,  and  put  off  at  the  last  moment  before 
the  flames  swept  the  decks;  and  Mr.  Walraven  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  away  his  precious  box.  The  car- 
penter and  Crouch  managed  to  get  away,  and  were 
cast  ashore — as  all  in  my  boat  also  were. 

"My  boat  was  thrown  on  the  shore  at  the  bend  just 
north  of  Causeway  Street;  and  there  we  all  lay,  in  a 
battered  and  bruised  heap,  insensible  and  half-frozen, 
for  the  balance  of  that  terrible  night. 

The  next    morning    we    were    picked    up,  and  were 


DANE    WALRAVEN  21 

taken  to  the  Globe  Hotel,  in  Hanover  Street,  hard  by 
the  pier  of  the  Winnesimitt  Ferry.  I  was  soon  in 
shape,  and  little  Dane  came  around  in  good  order,  and 
the  mahogany  box  was  taut  and  safe.  But  Mr.  Wai- 
raven  had  been  struck  by  or  been  hurled  head  first 
against  a  rock  and  he  was  a  long  time  opening  his 
eyes.  When  he  did,  he  set  them  on  me  and  I  saw  he 
was  ready  to  ship  his  anchor. 

"Take  care  of  Dane,"  he  whispered,  very  feebly, 
"and  get  the  will  out  of  the  box.  That  was — a  wise — 
precaution — Bardell — God  bless  you — " 

Then  he  lay  in  my  arms — dead. 

The  next  day  we  put  the  handsome  and  proud  form 
of  my  friend  in  its  tomb;  and  then  I  took  the  beauti- 
ful boy  he  had  given  me  by  the  hand,  and  we  went 
away,  weeping  together. 

We  took  quarters  at  the  tavern  of  Mr.  Adams,  369 
Washington  Street  (sign  of  the  Lamb),  where  we 
were  made  very  comfortable,  and  had  many  visits, 
especially  from  ladies.  These  impulsive  but  well-in- 
tentioned women  would  have  carried  the  boy  off  from 
me  piecemeal,  I  have  not  a  doubt,  if  they  could  have 
done  so  without  a  fatality.  They  were  constantly 
taking  him  away  in  their  carriages,  to  visit  their  own 
youngsters  at  their  elegant  and  pleasant  homes;  and 
several  offered  to  adopt  him.  Egad!  the  bonny  laddie 
could  have  taken  his  pick  among  half  a  dozen  aristo- 
cratic families  who  were  willing  to  call  him  son.  But 
I  felt  that  I  was  not  selfish  when  I  refused  to  part 
with  him;  I  was  carrying  out  his  father's  wishes;  I 
was  getting  a  home  ready  for  him;  and  his  money  had 


22  DANE    WALRAVEN 

been  put  out  at  six  per  cent  by  Mr.  Winthrop,  the 
president  of  the  Union  Bank,  a  sound  and  safe  insti- 
tution of  seventeen  years'  standing.  So,  when  the 
great  dames  came  to  me  for  final  decisions,  I  said  to 
them — 

"I  am  as  good  as  a  father  to  the  lad;  and  he  doesn't 
need  to  be  adopted  into  a  family  in  order  to  secure  a 
home — nor  a  fortune,  either.  And  it  being  the  case 
that  I  am  his  guardian  and  the  custodian  of  his  money, 
and  that  he  and  I  are  getting  to  be  fast  mates,  and  it 
also  being  the  case  that  I  have  no  family,  and  no  re- 
lations, and  — no  ship,  why,  we'll  stay  together." 

And  we  did.  But  the  excellent  people  who  had 
taken  such  an  interest  in  Dane,  first  because  he  was 
shipwrecked  or  stranded,  and  second  because  of  his 
great  beauty  and  wonderful  sweet  temper  and  man- 
ners, continued  to  invite  him  to  their  homes;  and  he 
made  in  this  way  so  many  acquaintances  in  a  little 
while,  that  it  was  as  though  he  had  been  born  in  the 
midst  of  them;  all  of  which  was  very  gratifying,  and 
promised  well  for  his  happiness  and  well-doing  when 
he  should  be  older. 

But  black  clouds  were  gathering  over  both  of  us; 
we  were  going  to  feel  the  whip  of  misfortune,  the 
sting  of  sorrow,  Dane  and  I. 


CHAPTER  IV 

CAPTAIN  BARDELL'S  STRANGE  VISITOR 

Two  years  had  passed  since  the  date  of  the  great 
storm  and  the  burning  of  the  "Armadillo." 

Only  two  years;  yet  this  brief  interval  of  time  was 
plethoric  with  events  of  the  gravest  importance  to 
those  in  whose  remembrance  these  chronicles  are  writ- 
ten. 

The  captain  had  established  himself  in  the  ship- 
chandlery  business,  near  the  long  wharf;  and  as  he 
conducted  his  affairs  with  prudence,  the  strictest  in- 
tegrity, and  wise  liberality,  he  had  secured  not  only 
the  custom  of  a  large  and  influential  class,  but  the  so- 
cial recognition  and  esteem  of  the  best  citizens  in  the 
community.  His  amiable  and  excellent  qualities  had 
drawn  about  him  a  large  coterie  of  friends,  and  his 
comfortable  and  well  ordered  house  in  Tremont  Street 
south,  was  a  favorite  resort,  especially  of  the  church 
to  which  he  had  attached  himself.  The  pastor  of  this, 
the  First  Church,  in  Chauncey  Place,  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham,  was  one  of  the  captain's  most  valued  friends, 
and  was  a  frequent  visitor  also;  and  the  friendship  of 
this  excellent  minister  was  destined  very  soon  to  prove 
of  the  utmost  benefit  to  the  captain,  as  we  shall  pres- 
ently see. 

Dane  was  now  past  his  fifth  year;  and  was  rapidly 

23 


24  DANE    WALRAVEN 

developing,  not  only  in  his  sturdy  little  body,  but  in 
those  traits  which  render  childhood  so  charming,  and 
its  promise  so  pleasing.  The  love  of  the  guardian  and 
ward  for  each  other  was  something  beautiful,  both  in 
its  perfect  sincerity  and  in  its  delicate  manifestation. 
It  promised  happiness  to  both;  and  yet  out  of  it  was 
to  come — woe! 

It  was  now  nearing  the  end  of  the  year  and  an  early 
fall  had  long  since  stripped  the  elms  of  their  red  and 
gold  raiment  and  the  skies  were  leaden  with  icy  va- 
pors. 

On  such  a  morning  as  this  the  captain  stood  in  his 
library,  placidly  gazing  out  at  the  snowy  particles  that 
flaked  the  windows,  when  he  saw,  approaching  the 
house  and  ascending  the  steps,  the  figure  of  a  man 
whom  he  had  last  seen  by  the  ruddy  but  terrible  light 
of  his  burning  ship,  tossing  in  a  quarter-boat  in  a 
churning  sea.  The  face  of  this  man  was  not  a  pleasant 
sight  to  the  skipper,  and  his  own  clouded,  and  his 
brows  gathered  in  a  frown  as  he  heard  the  heavy 
knocker  sounding  against  the  hall  door.  But  he 
waited  where  he  was,  while  Mrs.  Peddie,  his  Scotch 
housekeeper,  went  briskly  to  answer  the  somewhat 
peremptory  summons. 

The  moment  she  opened  the  outer  door,  the  man 
stepped  into  the  hall. 

"Can  I  see  the  captain?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  of  im- 
portance, and  with  a  consequential  air,  as  though  he 
considered  his  business  of  grave  import. 

Mrs.  Peddie  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

"What  is  it  you  want,  sir?"  demanded  she  rather 
sharply. 


DANE     VVALRAVEN  25 

The  visitor  gave  a  preliminary  sniff,  then  emitted  a 
sound  as  if  he  was  swallowing  something  and  replied 
in  a  snarling  tone: 

"My  business  is  with  the  gentleman;  will  you  be 
good  enough  to  tell  him  I  wish  to  see  him?" 

The  condescending  manner  of  the  man,  his  impudent 
tone  of  command,  and  the  covert  glitter  of  a  pair  of 
black  eyes  which  he  kept  carefully  veiled  by  their  long 
red  lids,  and  a  curious  turning  of  the  pupils  down- 
ward roused,  the  independent  and  irascible  Scotch 
blood  in  Mrs.  Peddie.  She  was  born  in  the  Highlands, 
had  hid  in  Wallace's  Cave  when  a  wee  bairn,  and 
feared  "nae  black  bodie. "  Besides  she  had  felt  an  in- 
stinctive dislike  for  the  man  the  instant  he  set  foot  in 
the  hall.  She  therefore  retorted,  more  sharply  than 
befdre: 

"Ye  neednae  be  sae  brash  wi'  yure  orders,  my  man! 
And  Mr.  Bardell  is  just  down  the  minute  for  his 
breakfast,  and  I  shallnae  disturb  him,  unless  it — un- 
less the  business  is  important." 

"Oh,  I  will  wait  until  he  is  through,"  returned  the 
visitor,  with  a  nasal  drawl,  and  the  habitual  smile 
broadening  across  his  square  chin. 

The  housekeeper  was  baffled  again;  but  she  was  not 
ready  to  yield. 

"Is  yure  business — important?"  she  demanded. 

1  Um — my  business  is  always  important,  madam. 
Sec  here,  now,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  snarl,  "you 
can't  treat  me  this  way  or  bluff  me.  I'm  a  gentleman, 
and  I'm  going  to  see  your  master." 

The  worthy  Mrs.  Peddie  stared    at  him,  and    shud- 


26  DANE    WALRAVEN 

dered.  Her  premonitions  were,  like  those  of  many 
others  of  her  race,  rarely  at  fault,  nor  were  they  in 
this  instance.  If  only  the  honest  and  unsuspicious  cap- 
tain had  had  some  of  her  prescience! 

"What  is  yure  name —  if  ye  have  one?"  demanded 
she. 

"My  name  is  James  Crouch,"  replied  he  stiffly. 

"And  does  Mr.  Bardell  know  ye?" 

"He  has  known  me  and  I  think  he  will  recollect 
me,"  with  a  sniff  and  a  swallow.  "Now,  my  dear 
madam,  if  you  will  oblige  me  by  telling  him  that  I 
want  to  see  him  on  business,  you  will  save  time  and 
trouble;  and  my  time  is  worth  money." 

The  housekeeper  glanced  at  the  long-bodied  figure, 
with  its  long  arms  partly  immersed  in  the  deep  pockets 
of  the  shabby  overcoat,  and  smothered  a  contempt- 
uous exclamation  of  dissent;  but  she  succumbed. 

"Sit  down  here,"  pushing  a  chair  toward  him,  "and 
wait  until  I  come  back." 

Mr.  Crouch  slowly  seated  "himself,  while  his  covert 
glance  malignantly  pursued  the  retreating  figure. 

"Hm — you're  snippish,  madam,"  muttered  he,  with 
his  heavy  jaws  set,  "but  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  we'll 
know  each  other  better,  after  awhile!" 

Then  he  remained  silent,  with  his  large  ears  a-cock 
for  the  returning  f  >otsteps,  which  now  came  very 
slowly  toward  him. 

A  singular  character,  was  this  man,  and  a  real  one, 
as  some  others  whose  names  are  disguised  in  these 
chapters  are.  A  phenomenally  wicked  man,  revengeful 
to  an  insane  degree,  implacable  and  cruel,  as  cunning 


DANE    WALRAVEN  27 

a  scoundrel  as  ever  cursed  the  earth.  A  black  hearted 
reptile,  who  hated  the  more  for  being  nourished,  fed, 
or  aided;  whose  very  origin — low  and  vicious — gave 
him  opportunities  to  intrude  upon  those  respectable 
people  whom  it  was  with  him  a  fiendish  pleasure  to 
thereafter  blackmail  or  slander. 

When  Mrs.  Peddie  reluctantly  returned  to  conduct 
him  to  her  master,  his  face  wore  a  cringing  mask,  his 
thick  lips,  always  compressed,  a  smirk.  The  captain 
stood  in  the  center  of  the  room,  his  pleasant  face  still 
clouded.  He  looked  cold  and  unimpressible  to  the 
stealthy  eyes  of  his  visitor;  and  the  latter  was  for  a 
moment  secretly  disconcerted.  But  he  had  deliberately 
arranged  his  programme;  and  the  resentment  he  now 
felt  under  the  steady,  questioning  eyes  of  the  man  who 
had  put  him  in  irons  and  whom  he  had  another  and 
far  more  deadly  reason  to  hate,  as  he  believed,  stimu- 
lated his  sinister  purpose,  and  emboldened  him  to 
proceed. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  REPTILE    CHARACTER 

"You  remember  me,  sir?"  Crouch  began,  as  he 
writhed  or  rather  darted  into  the  library,  and  stood 
holding  his  bell-crowned  hat  in  his  folded  hands. 

"By  your  name,  yes,"  was  the  cool  answer.  "I  have 
not  a  strong  memory  for  faces." 

It  had  been  fortunate  for  the  captain,  indeed,  if  his 
memory  had  been  better. 

"What  is  the  object  of  your  visit?"  inquired  the 
latter,  omitting  to  invite  Crouch  to  seat  himself. 

"Hm — I  called  to  see  you  about  a  position  that  is 
open  to  me,  if  I  can  get  some  gentleman's  influence  in 
my  favor;  and  as  you  are  a  member  of  the  City  Coun- 
cil, and  the  only  gentleman  I  am  acquainted  with  this 
side  of  the  water,  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  help  me 
get  the  place." 

"What  is  the  situation  you  seek?"  inquired  his  list- 
ener, indifferently. 

"Assistant  Superintendent  of  Burial  Grounds,"  re- 
plied Crouch,  promptly. 

"Ah!  I  don't  know  much  about  that  office.  What 
are  the  superintendent's  duties?" 

Evidently,  the  applicant  for  the  lugubrious  post 
had  studied  the  duties  well,  for  he  answered  glibly — 

"To  keep  a  record  book  in  his  office,  in  which  to 

28 


DANE   WALRAVEN  2Q 

register  all  deaths  that  are  reported  to  him,  the  age, 
name,  business,  place  of  burial,  place  of  death  and 
the  cause  of  same.  To  direct  the  sextons;  to  issue 
permits  to  bury,  open  or  close  graves  or  tombs,  or  re- 
move bodies." 

This  catechetical  recital  elicited  no  response  from 
the  captain,  who,  however,  opened  his  blue  eyes  a  trifle 
wider,  while  he  surveyed  the  applicant  in  silence. 

The  latter  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then  remarked, 
with  an  assumption  of  indifference  that  would  have 
imposed  on  no  one  but  the  skipper,  who  had  always 
sailed  in  open  waters,  and  had  never  kept  "a  weather 
eye  for  snags — " 

1  You  came  from  Carlisle,  down  in  Cumberland,  I 
believe?" 

"Yes." 

"I  used  to  be  there — often,"  continued  the  visitor, 
demurely. 

"Indeed?"  The  skipper  evinced  some  curiosity  at 
this  bit  of  information. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  was  for  some  time  gardener  at  Greystoke 
Park,  near  to  Penrith,  the  seat  of  a  branch  of  the 
Howards. " 

"Ah?"    The  captain  was  becoming  interested. 

"Yes,"  with  modest  complacence,  "but  I  wanted 
to  see  a  bit  of  the  outside;  so  I  went  off  to  the 
Guernsey  coast,  and  tried  fishing  there." 

The  captain  smiled  slightly,  and  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  sure  it  was  fishing,  are  you?"  he  asked, 
ironically.  He  well  knew  that  the  fishermen  of  Guern- 
sey in  general  were  smugglers,  at  that  date. 


30  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Oh,  yes.  .But  I  didn't  make  out;  and  it  was  hard 
on  me  there.  I  came  back  to  England  as  far  as  I 
could  and  then  made  up  my  mind  to  come  to  Amer- 
ica, where  I  could  earn  an  honest  living." 

"You  made  a  bad  beginning,  on  board  my  ship," 
observed  the  skipper,  his  face  becoming  suddenly 
stern. 

But  Crouch  was  prepared  for  this  reproach. 

"I  think  you  are  wrong,"  said  he  with  extreme 
gravity,  and  in  a  congested  tone,  "but  I  suppose  you 
are  minded  of  the  Thorp  business." 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  Thorp  business,"  returned 
the  captain,  severely,  "and  I  was  thinking  of  the  part 
you  played  openly  in  it,  and  the  part  I  believe  you 
played  secretly  in  it." 

The  dark-skinned  face  turned  gray,  and  the  corruga- 
tions in  the  low  forehead  deepened,  but  beyond  this 
there  was  no  sign  from  Crouch,  of  either  anger  or 
guilty  consciousness.  In  a  deprecating  tone  he  said: 

"I  knew -nothing  about  the  robbery  of  the  box  until 
after  it  was  found;  and  Thorp  told  me  the  thieving 
was  charged  on  him,  and  he  was  innocent.  So,  see- 
ing as  we  came  aboard  together,  and  came  on  from 
the  same  part  of  the  country,  I  thought  I  was  duty- 
bound  to  stand  by  him;  and  that's  how  it  happened 
that  I  got  into  the  row.  I  am  very  sorry  it  happened, 
captain." 

The  heart  of  the  skipper  softened,  as  he  heard  this 
quite  natural  version  of  the  affair.  Natural,  perhaps, 
had  Crouch  been  a  stupid  and  ignorant  person;  but  he 
was  both  intelligent  and  fairly  educated;  and  his'ex- 
planation  was  unplausible  as  it  was  false. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  31 

The  captain  stood  silently  regarding  the  fellow 
with 'a  steady  scrutiny  for  awhile.  He  was  a  generous 
and  kindly  man  as  well  as  a  brave  one.  The  man 
seemed  repentant;  that  was  something  in  his  favor. 
And  perhaps  he  was  in  distress. 

"Have  you  succeeded  in  anything  since  you  came 
over?"  he  inquired 

"Poorly,  sir.  Times  have  been  hard  with  me,  and 
most  of  the  seamen  and  the  people  that  I  have  run 
against  know  that  I  was  a  prisoner  on  the  ship  you 
commanded,  and  it  has  kept  me  down." 

This  was  an  appeal,  insinuatingly  made,  to  his  sense 
of  "justice,"  quite  as  much  as  to  his  generosity,  and 
it  had  an  apparent  effect.  Moreover,  what  some  peo- 
ple would  have  called  "the  infernal  luck  of  the  fellow, " 
had  brought  him  to  the  captain's  door  at  a  most  pro- 
pitious moment  for  the  success  of  his  schemes.  The 
t 

captain  was  going  forth  that  morning  on  an  errand 
the  success  of  which  he  had  spent  the  night  in  pray- 
ing for.  He  was  about  to  make  a  proposition  of  mar- 
riage to  one  whom  he  passionately  loved,  and  liis 
heart  at  this  moment  was  unusually  tender. 

He  stood  lost  in  reflection.  Perhaps  a  generous  act 
just  now  would  insure  the  fruition  of  his  trembling 
hopes;  and  it  might  be  that  Fortune  was  testing  him 
before  conferring  its  supremest  favor  upon  him. 

Crouch  neither  moved  nor  spoke  while  these  thoughts 
were  passing.  He  had  kept  his  evil  eyes  shaded,  as 
usual,  by  his  drooping  lids,  as  if  fearful  that  his  black 
soul  might  be  read,  and  his  treacherous  heart  reveal 
its  cesspool  through  them. 


32  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Well,"  said  Captain  Bardell,  finally,  "bring  me 
some  recommendations  from  respectable  persons  for 
whom  you  have  worked  during  the  past' six  or  eight 
months,  and  if  I  am  satisfied  with  them  I  will  get  the 
place  for  you." 

"I  will  do  that  at  once,"  returned  Crouch,  briskly, 
as  he  crept  toward  the  door;  "and  I'll  try  to  pay  you." 

His  patron  had  already  started  to  leave  the  library 
while  Crouch  was  delivering  this  speech;  and  some- 
thing indefinably  unpleasant  in  the  tone  in  which  the 
last  words  were  uttered  caused  him  to  turn  and  look 
after  the  skulking  figure  as  it  passed  with  its  spring- 
ing step  into  the  hall. 

Mrs.  Peddie  was  at  hand  to  open  the  street  door; 
and  as  the  man  glided  by  her,  with  a  peculiar  smirk 
on  his  sinister  face,  she  shrank  away  from  him;  her 
eyes  wore  a  troubled  expression,  as  she  closed  the 
door  slowly. 

"Ugh!"  murmured  she,  "I  do  feel  as  though  a  rep- 
tile had  crawled  into  the  house!" 

And  again  her  woman's  intuition  had  not  failed:  a 
reptile  had  crawled  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CAPTAIN  BARDELL'S  COURTSHIP 

Out  on  the  old  Salem  turnpike,  nine  miles  distant 
from  Boston,  lies  the  ancient  town  of  Lynn,  famous, 
even  at  the  date  of  our  story,  for  its  extensive  shoe 
manufactories. 

Hundreds  of  young  girls  were  at  that  time  employed 
in  these  establishments,  many  of  whom  attended  a 
night-school  which  a  few  philanthropic  ladies  of  the 
town  had  organized.  A  young  lady  of  Lynn  who 
taught  in  the  principal  school  there,  was  induced  to 
preside  over  this  night-school,  devoting  to  its  duties 
two  hours  of  each  alternate  evening  in  the  week.  This 
teacher,  Miss  Clara  Phillips,  was  an  orphan  of  twenty, 
beautiful,  of  excellent  birth,  and  with  many  amiable 
qualities  of  both  mind  and  person.  She  made  her  home 
with  an  estimable  elderly  widow  lady,  a  Mrs.  Farns- 
worth,  where  she  sometimes  received  brief  visits  from 
several  of  her  brightest  scholars,  among  the  latter  a 
handsome  and  intelligent  girl  of  eighteen,  known  as 
Ellen  Peters. 

Ellen  had  been  a  factory  girl  for  upwards  of  a  year 
when  she  entered  the  night-school,  and  had  made  such 
rapid  progress  in  her  studies,  and  had  exhibited  so 
pleasing  and  adaptable  a  disposition,  as  to  gain 
especial  favor  with  her  teacher.  There  was  something 

33 


34  DANE    WALRAVEN 

peculiar  about  the  girl,  a  restlessness  of  manner,  and 
a  reticence  of  habit,  which  for  a  long  time  puzzled 
Clara,  who  regarded  her  as  strangely  eccentric  but 
liked  her  none  the  less.  She  appeared  to  have  no  rel- 
atives, and  to  know  no  one  except  her  co-workers  in 
the  factory,  and  with  these  she  was  reserved  to  auster- 

ity.     . 

An  accident  at  a  bathing  pier  extending  out  from 
the  famous  Lynn  Beach,  and  from  which  Miss  Phillips 
had  fallen,  sustaining  a  severe  concussion,  had  brought 
these  two  together.  Ellen,  who  had  been  sauntering 
along  the  shore  at  dusk  one  evening,  had  witnessed 
the  mishap  and  had  helped  the  young  lady  to  her 
home,  receiving  a  kind  invitation,  before  she  left  for 
her  own  lodgings,  to  come  to  the  night-school.  Noth- 
ing more  was  seen  of  her  by  Miss  Phillips,  however, 
until  more  than  a  month  had  elapsed,  when  an  inci- 
dent again  brought  about  a  meeting  between  these  two 
whose  fates  were  to  be  fearfully  intermingled. 

The  Lynn  Beach  is  a  magnificent  stretch  of  more 
than  a  mile  and  a  half  between  Lynn  and  Nahant,  and 
was  quite  as  popular  a  resort  with  the  good  people 
of  Boston  half  a  century  ago  as  it  is  at  the  present 
day. 

One  of  the  most  frequent  visitors  from  the  city  was 
Captain  Howard  Bardell,  whose  thoroughbred  bays 
and  stylish  four  wheeler  were  seen  there  twice  or  thrice 
a  week.  Dane  always  accompanied  his  guardian;  and 
the  latter  found  even  more  delight  in  observing  the 
smiles  bestowed  on  the  boy  by  the  beach-seekers,  than 
in  the  grand  view  of  the  sea  he  had  always  loved. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  35 

During  one  of  his  excursions  thither  on  an  exqui- 
sitely golden  afternoon  in  October,  that  queen  of  the 
months  around  Boston,  the  captain  was  suddenly 
startled  out  of  a  reverie  as  he  drove  along  the  beach 
with  Dane  at  his  side,  by  an  exclamation  from  his 
ward — 

"Look — look,  Guardy,  what  a  pretty  lady!" 

The  captain  turned  his  face  away  from  the  sea,  with 
a  smile  at  the  boy's  vivacity,  and  his  eyes  rested  full 
upon  the  face  of  the  young  teacher.  She  had  been 
sauntering  dreamily  along  the  shore,  and  was  coming 
toward  the  slowly  moving  vehicle,  when  her  glance 
fell  upon  the  sunlit  head  of  the  boy.  Involuntarily 
she  stopped  for  an  instant,  and  as  Dane  chanced  to 
be  gazing  at  her,  her  fair  face  lit  up  with  a  smile  that 
made  it  radiant. 

The  captain's  glance  caught  the  smile  and  their 
eyes  met.  But  while  his  followed  her  form  with  an 
eagerness  which  brought  the  crimson  into  her  cheeks 
her  own  fell  instantly;  and  with  some  confusion  in 
her  manner  she  hurried  past  him  and  turned  away 
from  the  beach. 

The  captain  breathed  something  like  a  sigh  as  he 
touched  his  horses  up  and  then  suddenly  brought  them 
to  a  stand  at  the  edge  of  the  pier  on  the  left  where 
he  saw  a  handsome  girl,  motionless  and  pale,  staring 
alternately  at  himself  and  Dane.  Accustomed  to  the 
scrutiny  which  Dane  invariably  attracted,  he  paid  no 
attention  to  the  appearance  of  the  girl,  except  to  ob- 
serve that  she  wore  no  bonnet  or  wrap  and  from  this 
circumstance  he  judged  her  to  be  a  resident  of  the 
town, 


36  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Touching  his  hat  politely  he  asked  her  if  such  was 
the  case. 

With  an  odd  appearance  of  embarrassment,  and 
with  her  keen  black  eyes  fixed  upon  Dane,  she  an- 
swered yes. 

Then  the  captain  became  embarrassed  in  his  turn. 
He  wished  to  know  the  name  of  the  young  lady  who 
had  just  passed  him,  where  she  lived,  and  something 
more,  and  he  had  obeyed  part  of  the  impulse  to  ask 
this  stranger  to  tell  him.  But  now  he  realized  the 
possible  impropriety  of  such  inquiries,  and  he  hesi- 
tated. 

But  the  girl  had  observed  everything;  she  instantly 
guessed,  from  his  confused  manner,  that  it  was  not 
herself  in  whom  he  felt  such  sudden  interest,  but  the 
one  who  had  vanished  among  the  chestnut  trees  a  mo- 
ment before. 

A  look  that  might  have  been  relief  passed  over  her 
brown  face;  and  then,  with  a  faint  smile  of  sarcasm, 
she  surprised  him  with  a  question: 

"You  want  to  know  who  that  lady  is,  sir,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"Oh,  the  lady  that  just  passed?"  stammered  he.  "Do 
— do  you  think,  now — that  she  was  really  frightened 
at  the  horses?  " 

The  girl  laughed;  and  to  the  captain,  the  laugh 
seemed  to  mock  him.  It  had  a  ring  of  bitterness  in 
it,  too,  although  there  could  be  no  reason  for  it. 

"Did  she  look  like  she  was  frightened?"  queried 
she,  dryly. 

"I — I  don't  know,"  he    confessed,  hesitatingly,  and 


DANE    WALRAVEN  37 

beginning  to  look  uncomfortable.  Half  a  dozen  per- 
sons had  loitered  near,  and  these  were  drawing  infer- 
ences that  seemed  to*  greatly  amuse  them,  especially 
when  they  observed  the  captain's  color.  He  was*,  in 
truth,  managing  very  badly. 

He  caught  up  his  lines,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
moving  on,  when  the  girl  suddenly  came  close  to  the 
side  of  the  vehicle,  and  said  in  an  undertone: 

"The  lady  is  Miss  Clara  Phillips;  she  teaches  school 
— at  the  seminary.  Do  you  want  to  see  her?" 

The  captain  was  not  prepared  for  so  bold  a  sugges- 
tion, and  he  reddened  more  fiercely  than  ever.  But 
Dane  instantly  clapped  his  hands  with  delight. 

"Yes,  yes,  say  yes,  Guardy!" 

And  turning  his  sunny  face  towards  the  girl,  he  said 
coaxingly: 

'You'll  take  us  to  see  her,  won't  you?  I  just  know 
you  know  her — " 

"Hush,  hush,  my  lad,"  expostulated  his  guardian, 
looking  seriously  perplexed.  But  suddenly  a  fine  idea 
occurred  to  him. 

"You  know  the  lady?"  inquired  he,  turning  to  the 
girl. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  have  been  to  her  home." 

"That  is  well.  Now  you  see  how  eager  my  little 
ward  is-  to  make  her  acquaintance;  and  it  always  pains 
me  to  deny  him  anything — anything  reasonable,  you 
understand;  especially  as  he  is  an  orphan,  and  I  am 
the  only  one  in  the  world  to  look  after  his  pleasures. 
Now,  perhaps  you  would  go  to  the  lady  and  tell  her 
all  this — that  is,  tell  her  about  the  lad,  and  ask  her  if 
I  may  bring  him  to  see  her — will  you?" 


38  DANE    WALRAVEN 

The  captain  was  doing  finely,  now. 

The  girl  regarded  him  steadily,  with  a  curious  ex- 
pression, and  answered  slowly: 

"Yes,  I  will  do  what  you  wish.  If  you  will  drive 
at  a  walk,  turning  around  the  clump  of  elm  trees  yonr 
der,  toward  the  right,  you  will  see  a  two-story  house, 
painted  brown,  standing  back  in  a  yard.  That's  where 
she  lives.  I'll  cut  through  a  short  way,  and  see  her 
and  be  outside  by  the  time  you  get  to  the  gate." 

"Ah,  thank  you,"  said  the  captain,  as  she  started 
briskly  away,  ''and — one  moment,  please.  What  is 
your  name?" 

The  girl  eyed  him  with  the  same  peculiar  smile  as 
before,  reflected  a  second  or  two  and  replied  gravely: 

"Ellen  Peters." 

Then  she  walked  rapidly  up  toward  Beach  Street, 
the  captain's  horses  slowly  following. 

It  was  dark  night  when  he  and  Dane  drove  back  over 
the  turnpike,  leaving  behind  them  two  persons  whose 
influence  upon  the  lives  of  both  was  destined  to  soon 
weave  about  them  a  shroud  as  black  as  the  garments 
of  Eros. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SEQUEL  OF  A  DRIVE  ON  THE  LYNN  BEACH 

The  end  of  November  was  approaching,  the  trees  were 
leafless,  and  the  winds  that  began  to  sweep  along  the 
Lynn  Beach  were  bleak,  and  the  sea  itself  looked  gray 
and  dismal. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  the  energetic  mariner  found 
greater  attractions  on  the  strand  than  ever  before;  and 
after  an  invariably  rapid  drive  to  the  town,  he  as  in- 
variably found  it  necessary  to  rest  for  a  season  at  the 
widow's  three  gabled  house,  and  to  secure  a  companion 
for  his  stroll  or  drive  on  the  shore.  The  widow  had 
become  quite  infatuated  with  Dane;  and  she  usually 
contrived  to  entice  him  into  staying  with  her  during 
the  perambulations  of  Clara  and  the  captain;  and 
sometimes  Ellen  Peters  came  while  the  lad  was  there, 
and  her  ingenious  efforts  to  divert  him  led  after 
awhile  to  a  sort  of  comradeship  between  him  and  her 
which  she  appeared  to  be  singularly  desirous  of 
strengthening.  Ellen  had  entered  the  night-school 
immediately  after  the  first  meeting  between  the  young 
teacher  and  Captain  Bardell;  and  she  had  begun  to 
visit  the  former  once  or  twice  a  week,  making  herself 
not  only  very  agreeable  but  useful  as  well,  both  to 
Clara  and  Mrs.  Farnsworth. 

On  New  Year's  day  following  his  first  meeting  with 

39 


40  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Miss  Phillips,  the  captain  called  upon  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham,  the  pastor  of  the  First  Church,  and  informed  him 
of  the  growing  interest  he  felt  in  that  young  lady, 
whom  he  described  to  the  reverend  gentleman  as  a 
being  of  "exquisite  perfections." 

Miss  Phillips  had  many  friends  in  Lynn,  and  not  a 
few  admirers;  but  this  latest  acquisition  to  her  suite 
was  not  the  least  pretentious.  Indeed,  it  may  be  said 
that  he  was  proving  formidable.  His  manly  figure  and 
bearing,  his  frank  and  honorable  nature,  the  posses- 
sion of  a  sound  mentality  and  finished  education,  ren- 
dered him  more  than  a  match  for  his  younger  rivals. 

Nor  can  it  be  said  that  Mr.  Bardell,  albeit  a  modest 
gentleman,  and  of  a  reserved  disposition,  either  un- 
derrated his  powers  or  neglected  his  opportunities. 
He  wanted  a  wife;  he  was  certainly  old  enough  to 
choose  one  intelligently;  and  Clara  Phillips  was  his 
"unanimous  choice." 

Mr.  BardelPs  mind  had  been  somewhat  disturbed 
by  sundry  doubts,  before  his  interview  with  his  min- 
ister. He  had  a  great  deal  of  faith  in  the  latter's 
judgment,  and  had  sought  him  for  advice. 

"Do  you  think,  sir,"  he  gravely  asked,  "that  the 
disparity  in  our  ages  will  prove  a  very  decided  disad- 
vantage on  my  side?" 

The  captain  appeared  to  be  thinking  of  a  sea-fight. 
But  love  has  turned  stronger  heads  than  his. 

"How  old  are  you?"  demanded  the  minister. 

"Forty,"  replied  the  other,  moving  uneasily. 

"Hum.     And  she?" 

"Twenty,"  returned  the  captain,  moving  still  more 
uneasily. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  4! 

"Just  escaped  it!"  was  the  enigmatical  comment  of 
his  sententious  counselor. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,  sir?"  observed  the 
suitor  and  client,  rising  abruptly,  and  staring  anxiously 
at  the  old  gentleman. 

The  latter  smiled  cheerfully  over  his  spectacles,  and 
getting  out  of  his  padded  chair,  he  squared  his  portly 
figure  in  front  of  the  lugubrious  candidate,  placed  his 
hands  behind  him  under  his  coat-tails,  and  said  beam- 
ingly: 

"You  have  just  escaped  being  old  enough  to  be  her 
father. " 

"How — what?" 

Mr.  Bardell  backed  into  his  chair,  overcome  by  an 
announcement  in  which  only  Mr.  Frothingham  seemed 
to  see  something  humorous. 

"Come,  come,"  exclaimed  the  latter,  "you  do  not 
appear  to  appreciate  that  fact." 

Then  he  advanced  to  the  captain's  chair,  and  laying 
one  forefinger  into  the  palm  of  his  other  hand: 

"You're  nineteen  years  older  than  your  wife;  that  is, 
you're  a  grown  up  man.  You're  not  'old  enough  to  be 
her  father,'  and  nobody  can  throw  that  up  to  you. 
Therefore,  you  have  nothing  to  fear — if  she's  a  sensi- 
ble young  woman.  Go  to  her  with  confidence;  and 
let  me  know  to-morrow  night  when  the  bans  are  to 
be  read.  Be  off  now,  you  silly  boy,  and  don't  drive 
your  horses  too  fast  on  your  way  back  from  Lynn." 

Mr.  Bardell  walked  briskly  home,  murmuring  to 
himself,  while  a  smile  of  satisfaction  rippled  over  his 
bronzed  face: 


42  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Excellent  man!  Why,  he's  twenty  years  older  than 
I  am — and  he's  as  bright  as  a  new  guinea." 

Accordingly,  on  the  morning  following,  when  Jem 
Crouch  glided  out  of  the  Bardell  residence,  the  cap- 
tain's natty  team  came  prancing  up  to  the  entrance, 
champing  their  bits  with  as  much  impatience  as  though 
they  knew  they  were  going  in  search  of  a  mistress. 
They  certainly  knew  the  direction  they  were  expected 
to  take;  and  with  flying  hoofs,  and  without  feeling  the 
lines  over  their  sleek  flanks,  they  sped  away  in  the 
light  of  the  glorious  morning  sun  toward  the  pale  star 
that  shone  under  the  brown  gables  of  the  old  house 
in  Lynn. 

It  was  but  a  little  past  ten  o'clock  when  the  Widow 
Farnsworth  heard  a  loud  peal  from  the  brass  knocker 
of  her  front  door.  Promptly  answering  the  summons, 
she  stood  in  the  doorway,  in  her  proverbial  black 
bombazine  and  black  silk  apron,  surveying  the  visitor 
over  her  gold-rimmed  spectacles  with  unconcealed 
surprise. 

"La,  it's  Mr.  Bardell!"  ejaculated  the  quaint  old 
dame,  ushering  him  with  friendly  fussiness  into  the 
prim  little  parlor.  Seating  herself  opposite  his  chair 
for  a  moment,  she  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
again  smilingly  surveyed  him. 

"La,  me,  I  was  actually  set  back,  when  I  saw  you 
first.  Thinks  1,  have  I  lost  a  day?  If  I  have,  thinks 
I,  it's  a  warning  But  then  it  ain't  strange;  I'm  get- 
ting along,  and  memory  can't  last  forever.  Why,  let 
me  see,  I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  mother!" 

The  captain  started  visibly  at  these  familiar  words, 


DANE    WALRAVEN  43 

and  his  face  flushed.  Then  he  glanced  at  the  plump 
figure  of  the  widow,  and  smiled  complacently. 

"Old  age  hasn't  reached  you  yet,  Mrs.  Farnsworth," 
said  he,  gallantly. 

The  widow  shook  her  head  with  a  non-committal 
movement. 

'T  must  say  I  felt  a  little  set  back  when  I  saw  you. 
You  never  come  on  Saturday,  it's  always  Sunday.  It's 
true  I  take  the  Lynn  'Record;'  but  the  editor  himself 
missed  the  day,  the  right  date,  I  mean,  once;  and 
I've  never  had  any  confidence  in  the  paper  since." 

Then  a  few  moments  of  silence  ensued,  the  widow 
quizzically  eyeing  him  the  while. 

"I  s'pose  you  want  to  see  Clara?"  she    said,  finally. 

"Hm — if  it  is  convenient,"  replied  he,  feeling  not 
altogether  comfortable. 

"Of  course  it's  convenient,"  responded  she  cheerfully. 
"Well,  she  just  went  out  a  little  bit  since,  but  she 
can't  be  far.  There,  she's  coming  now." 

There  was  a  light  step  in  the  hall,  and  then — Ellen 
Peters  looked  into  the  room. 

She  gave  the  captain  a  sedate  courtesy,  and  was 
about  to  withdraw,  when  the  widow  called  her. 

"Ellen,"  said  she,  "can  you  find  Miss  Clara  and 
bring  her  home?  Mr.  Bardell  wants  to  see  her.  It's 
important." 

The  girl  looked  fixedly  into  his  face  for  an  instant, 
with  searching  eyes;  then  she  answered  quietly,  as 
she  turned  away, 

"I  can  find  her." 

Five  minutes  had  scarcely    elapsed,  when  Clara  en- 


44  DANE  WALRAVEN 

tered  the  room.  She  stopped  abruptly,  her  eyes  be- 
traying even  greater  surprise  than  Mrs.  Farnsworth 
had  exhibited. 

The  latter  had  risen,  and  murmuring  an  excuse  left 
the  parlor. 

"You  did  not  know  it  was  I  who  sent  for  you?"  in- 
quired her  visitor,  as  he  took  her  hand,  and  led  her 
to  a  seat. 

"No,"  replied  she  with  an  air  of  perplexity. 

"Ellen  did  not  tell  you,  then?" 

"No,  she  said  there  was  a — a  foreign  gentleman  in 
the  parlor,  who  wished  to  see  me  immediately,  about  a 
subject  that  isn't  taught  in  schools,"  answered  Clara, 
innocently. 

The  captain  thought  this  rather  queer;  but  he 
laughed  heartily;  and  Clara  sank  back  in  her  chair 
with  an  unaccountable  feeling  that  there  was  some- 
thing strange  in  Ellen's  manner,  and  that  she  herself 
had  been  saying  something  ridiculous. 

Mr.  Bardell  had  now  reached  the  supreme  moment; 
and  what  then  transpired  is  worthy  of  a  chapter  by 
itself. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  BETROTHAL 

The  captain  had  seated  himself  beside  the  chair  in 
which  Clara  sat  shrinkingly  waiting  the  explanation  of 
his  visit.  He  had  taken  the  soft  white  hand  again, 
and  was  holding  it  firmly,  while  she,  beginning  to  re- 
cover her  self-possession,  bethought  her  that  his 
errand  concerned  Dane,  to  whom  she  was  deeply  at- 
tached. Dane  was  frequently  the  principal  subject  of 
conversation  between  them,  and  .the  captain  had  often 
sought  her  advice  in  matters  affecting  his  ward's  com- 
fort and  pursuits.  She  had,  in  fact,  come  to  feel  a 
sort  of  second  guardianship  over  Dane,  herself.  Per- 
haps the  captain  was  about  to  ask  her  to  teach  the 
boy,  thought  she,  and  her  heart  glowed  with  pleasure 
at  the  mere  suggestion  of  such  a  happy  possibility. 

Absorbed  by  this  fancy,  she  forgot  that  the  captain 
was  still  holding  her  hand,  that  he  was  bending  his 
blue  eyes  upon  hers  with  an  intensity  which  now  found 
some  vent  in  his  deep  voice. 

"Clara,  can  you  not  guess  what  has  brought  me  here, 
this  morning?" 

"Perhaps  you  wish  to  become  one  of  my  pupils, "  re- 
turned she,  naively;  not  noticing  in  her  very  ingenu- 
ousness, that  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  known 
him,  he  had  omitted  the  "Miss"  in  addressing  her. 

45 


46  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"To  be  one  of  your  pupils,"  replied  he,  with  a  ten- 
der smile,  "would  indeed  be  a  delicious  privilege." 

"Well,  then,"-  answered  she,  playfully,  "I  will  take 
you  on  probation,  but  upon  one  'condition  prece- 
dent."1 

"You  would  onl)T  have  to  name  it — " 

"Really?"  she  interrupted,  glancing  up  into  his  face 
with  unsuspecting  eagerness.  "Then  it  is  this:  you 
are  to  give  me  another  pupil  at  the  same  time  in 
Dane." 

The  captain's  eyes  danced.  Aha!  here  was  a  chance 
for  a  coup;  and  the  ex-officer  in  H.  M.  S.  had  been 
noted  for  the  skillful  handling  of  his  guns. 

"Take  me,"  he  said,  bending  over  the  little  hand 
caressingly,  "and  Dane  shall  be  to  you  as  a  — " 

"Oh!" 

The  suddenness  of  this  explosive,  the  swiftness  with 
which  the  hand  flew  from  his  grasp,  and  the  evident 
state  of  panic  into  which  his  companion  passed  in  a 
second  of  time,  fairly  astonished  him,  and  he  drew 
his  chair  a  few  inches  away  from  her,  while  he  sur- 
veyed her  with  very  wide  open  eyes,  abashed  and  si- 
lent. 

Only  for  an  instant  had  Clara's  violet  eyes  responded, 
when  they  flashed  a  startled  look  into  his.  Then  they 
sought  occupation  elsewhere.  The  beautiful  head 
drooped  slowly  forward,  the  rounded  cheeks  glowed 
with  a  crimson  stain  which  faded  swiftly  out  of  them 
and  left  them  white  as  ivory. 

Love  communicates  its  secrets  in  many  subtler  ways 
than  speech  contrives.  It  betrays  itself,  too,  more 


DANE    WALRAVEN  47 

certainly  when  it  surprises  its  subject;  but  the  mo- 
ment the  subject  is  conscious  of  its  presence  within, 
life  assumes  a  new  aspect,  the  world  changes. 

To  Clara,  love  was  revealing  itself  with  an  abrupt- 
ness that  frightened  her.  She  was  taken  unawares  by 
the  sly  little  god;  and  in  the  surprise  of  the  moment 
she  betrayed  her  heart  to  the  man  who  sat  there,  as 
mute  as  herself,  but  watching  her  with  glowing  eyes. 

Her  right  hand  hung  unguardedly  over  the  arm  of 
her  chair  nearest  him.  He  reached  forward,  and  softly 
took  it  once  more;  and  although  she  tried  to  draw  it 
from  him  he  held  it  only  the  faster;  and  she  felt  his 
own  burning  against  her  trembling  ringers.  Her 
bosom  was  agitated  with  emotions  she  could  not  un- 
derstand; they  were  a  mystery  to  her,  and  whether  a 
sweet  or  a  painful  one  she  knew  not.  Her  breath 
came  quicker,  and  she  trembled. 

"There  is  but  one  boon,  and  I  came  here  to  ask  it," 
murmured  her  lover. 

Still  she  was  silent.  Her  drooping  chin  had  touched 
her  bosom,  whose  rise  and  fall  he  saw  with  a  kindling 
passion  that  quivered  in  every  fiber  of  his  body. 

Perhaps  the  highest  degree  of  felicity  possible  to 
human  beings  is  reached  when  the  heart  first  stirs  with 
love;  just  as  the  heart  deceived  by  the  object  of  its 
love  leaps  down  into  the  lowest  depths  of  misery. 

There  was  virgin  love  in  the  hearts  of  these  two 
now;  and  they  drank  in  the  ecstasy  of  the  moment  like 
thirsty  travelers  who  have  crossed  a  Sahara  whose 
dearth  has  ended  at  last  by  a  spring  of  leaping  waters. 

The  prim  little   parlor    of    the    prim  little    Widow 


48  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Farnsworth  had  never  before  witnessed  such  a  scene 
as  this.  The  hair-cloth  furniture  setting  stiffly  against 
the  white  walls,  the  blue  and  gray  carpet  which  was 
always  damp  because  the  sun  was  not  permitted  to 
shine  upon  it,  the  quaint  portraits  in  ancient  frames 
that  hung  sedately  above  the  old  oak  wainscoting, 
like  teachers  of  propriety,  were  made  witnesses,  for 
the  first  time  in  their  dumb  existence,  of  the  first  act 
in  that  beautiful  life-drama  which  will  be  re-enacted 
again  and  yet  again,  as  long,  indeed,  as  hearts  are 
human. 

At  last  Clara  raised  her  eyes,  and  very  pure  eyes 
they  were,  full  of  a  divine  light  that  came  wandering 
timidly  up  from  the  depths  of  a  very  pure  soul. 

'Do  you  love  me?"  she  asked  softly;  and  the  tremor 
in  her  voice  added  to  its  melody. 

"Love  you!" 

For  an  instant,  then,  the  calmness  of  the  man  gave 
way  to  the  ardor  of  the  lover.  He  leaned  forward  in 
his  chair;  and  then,  to  her  intense  dismay,  his  arms 
were  thrown  about  her  pliant  form,  and  he  drew  her 
to  him  in  an  irresistible  embrace. 

"Oh — Mr.  Bardell!"  exclaimed  the  frightened  girl, 
struggling  to  free  herself.  "Please^" 

But  Mr.  Bardell  was  at  this  instant  too  much  en- 
grossed by  his  own  overpowering  emotions  to  forego 
their  enjoyment.  He  only  folded  her  the  closer  to  his 
breast,  until  he  felt  the  palpitating  little  heart  pulsing 
against  his  own. 

"Please  release  me!"  she  pleaded,  panting  with  ex- 
citement and  the  pressure  of  his  strong  arms,  and 
two  tears  glittered  on  her  long  lashes. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  49 

Mr.  Bar  dell  saw  them,  and  relented;  and  as  she 
sank  down  into  her  chair,  with  averted  eyes  and  crim- 
son cheeks,  he  recovered  himself,  and  sat  bolt  upright 
in  his  seat,  like  a  school-boy  on  the  stool  of  repent- 
ance. 

"Did  I  frighten  you  very  much?"  he  finally  stam- 
mered, beginning  now  to  show  some  compunction  for 
her  distress. 

"Yes — that  is — a  little,"  was  faintly  murmured  back. 

"I'm — I'm  a  ruffian!  "declared  he,  energetically. 
Then  he  waited  a  moment,  watching  her  rosy  face 
ruefully. 

A  swift  glance  of  reproach  and  tenderness  answered 
his  self-accusation. 

"Don't  you  think  so?"  ventured  he,  taking  heart. 

"No!" 

The  answer  was  soft  as  a  zephyr,  but  it  thrilled 
him. 

"Then  you  forgive  me,  for  my — my—" 

He  hardly  knew  what  to  term  it,  that  passionate 
outburst,  so  natural,  so  spontaneous.  His  life  had 
been  so  arid,  you  see;  and  the  dew  of  heaven  had 
suddenly  fallen  upon  it  for  the  first  time.  How  could 
he  have  stayed  the  impulse  to  drink? 

"You  do  forgive  me?" 

"Yes."  A  very  gentle  murmur,  this  time,  and  a 
deepening  of  the  red  in  the  peach-like  cheeks,  over 
which  the  chestnut  curls  were  falling  in  ravishing  con- 
fusion. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  returned  he,  fervently,  and  he 
folded  his  hands  together,  more  than  ever  like  a 
school-boy, 


50  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Then  ensued  a  silence,  that  eloquent  silence  which 
needs  no  interpreter.  These  two  hearts  were  coming 
together  swiftly;  their  life-currents  were  about  to 
unite;  and  speech  or  sound  would  have  been  profa- 
nation. 

They  could  hear  each  others'  hearts  beat,  though, 
in  that  rythmic  measure  which  was  sweeter  to  them 
than  the  music  of  harps. 

A  man  who  loves,  is,  until  his  declaration  of  it,  all 
expression;  a  woman  who  loves,  is,  until  her  confes- 
sion of  it,  all  repression.  Her  part,  therefore,  is  the 
harder  to  sustain;  and  when  it  is  ended  it  leaves  her 
faint  and  languid. 

Clara  felt  thus,  when  her  lover  returned  to  his  first 
question;  and  she  did  not  now  attempt  to  withdraw 
her  hand. 

This  time  he  spoke  with  a  comical  mixture  of  doubt, 
hope,  and  apology: 

"Will  you  be  my  wife,  Clara?" 

Raising  one  little  hand,  she  covered  her  eyes  with 
it;  and  then  he  felt  in  his  own  hand  an  electric  shock 
which  went  with  the  swiftness  of  lightning  through 
his  veins.  Five  little  fingers  lay  in  his  palm,  and 
they  had  given  it  the  faintest  possible  pressure,  trem- 
bling, timid,  but — certain. 

Then  came  from  his  lips  like  a  loosened  torrent 
those  rapturous  exclamations  that  are  too  sacred  for 
repetition.  Though  not  to  words  alone  did  he  confine 
his  lips.  Again  and  again  did  they  seek  hers;  and  the 
store  of  honey  he  found  there  must  have  been  inex- 
haustible, for  it  was  two  o'clock  ere  either  of  them 


DANE    WALRAVEN  51 

had  realized  that  this  was  the  widow's  hour  for  dinner. 
Happy  Bardell!  We  have  given  him  to  taste  of  the 
sweetest  fruits  e'er  plucked  by  tired  hands  from  the 
dusty  wayside  of  life.  Let  us  felicitate  him.  Nor  envy 
him;  for  he  is  yet  to  pluck  fruit  as  black  as  this  is 
golden! 


CHAPTER  IX 

"I'LL  PUT  A  SCORPION  IN  HIS  NEST" 

» 

Among  the  public  duties  imposed  upon  the  city 
clerk  of  Boston,  was  that  of  reading  in  the  First 
Church,  in  Chauncey  Place,  the  bans  of  all  citizens 
who  had  finally  determined  upon  taking  the  fatal — or 
felicitous — step  toward  the  marriage-altar.  This  inter- 
esting business  was  conducted  once  a  week,  at  the  reg- 
ular Thursday  lectures  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham.  These  lectures  were  then  held  in  the  basement 
of  the  church;  and,  whether  they  were  found  especially 
delectable  by  the  members  of  his  flock,  or  because  of 
the  announcements  that  were  always  made  by  the 
clerk,  the  attendance  was  invariably  large. 

On  the  Thursday  after  Mr.  Bardell's  successful  in- 
terview with  Clara  Phillips,  the  lecture  and  the  "draw- 
ing card"  referred  to  filled  every  seat  in  the  hall;  and 
one  of  these  seats  was  occupied  by  the  captain  him- 
self, a  usual  circumstance,  since  he  was  a  good  Uni- 
tarian, and  a  valued  member  of  the  First  Church. 

The  last  announcement  made  that  morning  by  the 
clerk  was  of  special  interest  to  the  captain :  to-wit,  the 
bans  of  Mr.  Howard  Bardell,  late  of  England,  etc., 
and  Miss  Clara  Phillips,  of  the  town  of  Lynn. 

The  genial  face  of  the  ex-officer  exhibited  the  utmost 
satisfaction;  and  when  his  friends,  at  the  close  of 


DANE    WALRAVEN  53 

service,  crowded  about  him  with  their  congratulations, 
he  received  them  with  so  jaunty  an  air  as  to  call  forth 
from  the  jovial  minister  another  sly  jest  at  his  ex- 
pense. 

As  soon  as  he  could  extricate  himself  from  his  nu- 
merous well-wishers,  the  captain  hurried  off  toward 
his  home,  oblivious  of  everything  save  the  bright  con- 
tentment that  filled  his  heart. 

Ah,  if  only  some  good  genius  had  whispered  to  him 
as  he  went  on  his  way,  softly  whistling  to  himself — 

"Turn  back,  look  upon  the  wretch  who  remains  be- 
hind in  the  vestry-room,  listen  to  his  mutterings,  and 
be  warned!" 

But  no  good  genius  was  there  at  his  elbow.  Or  if 
there  was  it  fled  before  the  three  Furies,  who  were  pur- 
suing the  unconscious  victim  of  infernal  plots,  and 
whose  refrain  he  could  not  hear — 

"Say  that  we  may  not  prey  at  will  on  Man; 
Nor  glut  our  famished  hate  on  human  woe: 
Say  that  the  Laws  are  fixed;  say  that  the  plan 
Of  the  wide  Universe  naught  can  o'erthrow: 
Yet,  though  immutable,  we  those  laws  fulfill; 
And,  changing  nothing,  reap  our  harvest  still." 

But  we,  who  are  ubiquitous,  who  may  pass  at  will 
through  stone  walls  and  through  open  windows  with 
equal  facility,  will  retrace  our  steps  and  enter  the 
basement  of  the  old  church  which  the  aged  janitor  is 
closing  after  the  last  of  the  congregation,  and  creep 
into  the  vestry-room — 

Ah! 

Bending  over  the  register  in    which  the  records  are 


54  DANE    WALRAVEN 

kept,  and  which  the  clerk  has  thrust  into  the  drawer 
of  the  sexton's  desk,  is  a  figure  as  familiar  to  us  as  it 
is  repulsive. 

The  figure  of  Joel  Thorp. 

With  the  stub  of  a  carpenter's  pencil  he  laboriously 
copies  the  entry  made  but  half  an  hour  ago,  upon  a 
book  leaf,  thrusts  it  into  the  greasy  pocket  of  his  sur- 
tout,  and  shuffles  to  a  stool,  upon  which  he  seats  him- 
self. 

In  a  few  minutes,  listening  the  while,  with  corru- 
gated forehead  and  pursed  lips,  he  hears  the  old  janitor 
leave  the  hall,  and  now  he  is  alone — so  he  thinks  to 
himself,  forgetting  the  God  whose  sanctuary  he  is  pro- 
faning. 

Now  he  communes  with  himself  aloud;  a  strange 
habit  with  such  characters,  but  a  frequent  one.  Vi- 
cious people  are  secretive,  and  much  of  their  time  is 
spent  in  solitude.  It  is  in  solitude  that  their  fierce 
and  restless  brains  are  busiest;  and  they  make  com- 
panions of  themselves  when  thus  alone,  carrying  on  a 
dialogue  between  the  outer  and  the  inner  self. 

"Coin'  to  be  married,  goin'  to  be  married,"  mut- 
tered Joel,  his  bushy  head  bent  down,  his  hands  spread 
out  on  his  threadbare  knees.  They  were  odd-looking 
members,  those  hands  of  his.  Large,  coarse  and  red, 
with  the  fingers  bent  inward,  toward  the  horny  palms, 
they  resembled  claws,  and  the  long  black  nails  were 
like  talons. 

The  subject  of  his  thoughts  interested  him  strange- 
ly; his  dark  face  worked  itself  into  a  caricature;  the 
claw-like  hands  were  dug  fiercely  into  the  patches  of 


DANE    WALRAVEN  55 

his  trousers,  as  though  he  imagined  they  were  tearing 
the  flesh  of  Howard  Bardell,  the  skipper  of  the  "Arma- 
dillo, "  who  had  put  him  in  irons,  who  had  turned  him 
over^  to  the  master-at-arms  to  be  lashed  with  stripes — 
twenty  of  them — on  his  bare  back;  the  man  who  had 
caused  him  to  lose  an  eye,  increasing  his  ugliness, 
maiming  him  forever. 

The  scene  on  board  the  ship  came  back  to  him;  the 
hiss  of  the  lash  sung  its  song  of  torment  into  his  ears 
again;  the  chill  of  the  iron  manacles  on  his  wrists 
crept  around  them  again  like  the  clammy  coils  of  a 
snake;  the  blow  of  the  cutlass  maddened  him  again, 
and  he  saw  the  flash  that  scorched  his  very  brain,  at 
the  moment  the  light  went  out  of  his  stricken  eye 
forever! 

His  broad,  strong  teeth  were  ground  together  until 
they  cracked;  his  lips  were  drawn  back  from  them  un- 
til a  ghastly,  demoniacal  grin  overspread  his  face;  his 
single  eye  glowed  with  a  greenish  light  in  the  gloom 
of  the  shaded  room;  and  at  length,  convulsed  by  the 
fury  of  his  thoughts,  he  screamed — but  the  sound'  was 
driven  back  into  his  thick  throat — 

"Curse  him,  curse  him!  And  the  kid — curses  on 
both!  Blast  my  soul,  but  I'll  follow  them,  both  of 
'em,  till  they're  dead — dead!  " 

Rising    from    the  stool,  as  he  ground  out  this  omi-4 
nous    threat    through    his    clenched    teeth,    he    went 
stealthily  out  into  the    school  room,  unbolted  a    door, 
and  let  himself  into  the  street. 

Making  his  way  toward  the  north  end  of  the  city, 
he  entered  a  dingy  wooden  building,  the  upper  story 


56  DANE    WALRAVEN 

of  which  projected  several  feet  over  the  lower,  and 
pushed  his  way  through  an  unlatched  door  into  a 
poorly  furnished  room,  where  sat,  in  rigid  attitude, 
and  silent  expectation,  two  women.  . 

"So  you're  back,  are  ye?"  exclaimed  one  of  them, 
with  a  feverish  glance  of  inquiry  in  her  inky  eyes;  inky, 
because  there  was  absolutely  nothing  white  around 
the  pupil,  the  whole  optic  being  of  a  mottled  black 
color,  and  standing  out  of  an  ashen-colored  face. 

"It  looks  like  I  was." 

Joel  had  shuffled  into  the  room  and  slouched  into 
a  chair,  a  malignant  and  meaning  smile  playing  in  the 
corners  of  his  sinister  mouth. 

"You've  been  longer  than  common,"  complained  the 
woman,  whose  curiosity  was  evidently  excited  and  her 
temper  irritated  by  his  manner. 

"Some  things  are  more  important  than  others." 

"Of  course.     What's  up?" 

The  navvy's  going  to  be  married,  sure  enough." 

"Well?" 

"To  the  milk-faced  girl-teacher." 

"Well,  that  ain't  news.  We  knew  it,"  grumbled 
the  woman. 

"Gad!  I  could  prevent  it,  though,"  muttered  Joel 
with  a  vicious  chuckle.  » 

"You  could  prevent  it!"  sneered  the  woman. 

"Mebbe." 

"Mebbe, "  snarled  she,  "don't  you  know?  You  had 
a  mind  of  your  own — oncet.  Until  he  was  your  boss. 
But  then  you  was  his  slave — " 

"Shut  up,  blast  ye!" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  57 

Joel  made  a  threatening  gesture,  at  which  the  wo- 
man shrugged  her  shoulders  contemptuously. 

"Curse  him!"  muttered  he,  as  if  in  soliloquy;  "I 
feel  them  blows  yet." 

"But  they  ain't  paid  for,"  sneered  the  woman,  with 
a  glitter  in  her  inky  eyes;  "an'  it's  more'n  two  years 
since  ye  got  'em. " 

Joel  looked  moodily  at  the  homespun  carpet. 

"Yer  right,"    said  he,  with  his  teeth    set;    "it's   an 
old  account;  but  I'll  pay  good  interest  on't. " 

"How'll  ye  do  it?"  snarled  the  woman;  "not  by 
talkin'  to  yourself  every  night  an'  broodin'  over  it." 

"Leave  that  to  me."  And,  turning  suddenly  to  the 
other,  evidently  a  much  younger  woman  than  the  first, 
although  she  wore  a  thick  veil  wrapped  about  her  face, 
totally  concealing  all  save  her  eyes,  "I  want  you  to 
do  your  part." 

"I'm  doing  it." 

The  words  were  spoken  quietly,  and  the  voice  had 
none  of  the  grating  harshness  so  conspicuous  in  that 
of  her  companion. 

"Yes,  you're  doin'  it,"  growled  Joel,  "an'  you've 
done  it  well — so  far." 

"When  is  the  wedding  to  be?"  suddenly  inquired  the 
elder  woman. 

"In  six  weeks." 

"An'  you'll  let  it  happen?"  observed  the  woman, 
with  a  mocking  laugh. 

"Yes!"  shouted  Joel,  rising  suddenly  to  his  feet, 
and  extending  his  claw-like  hand  before  him;  "I'll  let 
it  happen;  an'  as  soon  as  it  does,  I'll  put  a  scorpion 
in  his  nest!" 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   THORP  FAMILY    ON   COPP'S  HILL 

Joel  Thorp  had  gone  into  the  business  of  pawn- 
broking,  soon  after  his  inauspicious  landing  at  Boston, 
and  had  opened  a  shop  near  the  north  end  of  Charter 
Street,  where  he  would,  as  he  supposed,  be  less  sub- 
jected to  the  espionage  of  the  officers  of  the  law  than 
in  any  more  populous  district  of  the  city;  and  here  he 
at  once  engaged  in  a  questionable  traffic  with  the 
sailors  who  at  that  time  resorted  to  that  uninviting  lo- 
cality. It  mattered  nothing  to  Joel  who  his  customers 
were,  what  they  brought,  or  where  they  obtained  the 
goods  they  offered  him;  his  only  concern  being  to  loan 
.as  low  a  per  cent  of  their  value  as  the  necessities  of 
the  individual  or  his  own  shrewdness  effected.  He 
soon  began  to  do  a  thriving  business;  and  feeling  the 
need  of  a  helpmate,  he  looked  around  him  for  a  suit- 
able and  willing  person  to  fill  that  tender  and  conjugal 
position.  Such  a  person  he  found  in  the  supposed 
widow  of  a  sailor.  Mrs  Anne  Mock,  a  gaunt  and  harsh- 
featured  woman  of  forty — his  own  age — and  possessed 
of  "eytr'nary  conwictions, "  if  we  may  accept  his  state- 
ment concerning  the  qualities  which  induced  him  to 
bestow  upon  her  "his  'and  and  'eart,  likewise  his 
'umble  'ome  at  Copp's  Hill." 

His  parental  instincts  had    led    him    to    consult  his 

58 


DANE    WALRAVEN  59 

son  and  daughter  before  making  these  numerous  and 
important  proffers  to  "Hannie, "  and  much  to  his  re- 
lief, after  a  somewhat  stormy  interchange  of  ideas  be- 
tween the  three,  Martha  withdrew  her  objections  to 
the  match,  on  condition  that  she  was  allowed  to  take 
a  situation  as  nurse  to  the  children  of  a  Dorchester 
family,  which  had  been  offered  her;  while  Silas  stip- 
ulated that  the  necessary  equipment  and  stipend  to 
enable  him  to  attend  the  English  High  School  should 
be  forthcoming  before  the  interesting  event  came  off. 

These  domestic  arrangements  having  been  amicably 
made  and  concluded,  the  formidable  "widder"  had 
been  led  to  the  altar,  resplendent  in  a  costume  of  her 
own  designing,  out  of  materials  furnished  from  the 
pawn  shop,  and  had  thence  carried  her  convictions  to 
the  superannuated  '  'ome  on  the  'ill,"  the  classical 
name  it  received  from  the  lady  herself. 

Mrs.  Mock  was  a  woman  of  great  spirit;  and  she 
fiercely  espoused  the  cause  of  the  Thorp  household 
against  the  "skipper  and  his  kid,  on  princerple,"  al- 
beit she  had  not  received  a  strictly  true  history  of  the 
one-sided  feud  from  her  cautious  and  secretive  spouse; 
and  the  surprising  homage  paid  to  her  convictions  by 
that  otherwise  tyrannical  individual  led  him  usually  to 
adopt  her  suggestions  in  forming  his  plans,  though  he 
sometimes  attempted  a  brief  rebellion  against  her  hec- 
toring. 

Martha  had  left  the  parental  roof  to  fill  the  situa- 
tion of  nurse,  and  Silas  had  entered  the  High  School, 
some  time  previous  to  the  events  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter.  But  Silas  had  also  changed  his  domicile  to 


6O  DANE    WALRAVEN 

the  genial  hearth  of  the  janitor  of  the  school  build- 
ing; so  that  the  "  'ome  on  the  'ill"  now  sheltered  but 
three  persons,  the  third  being  a  boy  of  ten  years  of 
age,  whom  Joel  called  his  nephew. 

Silas  had  made  his  preparations  to  remove  absolutely 
from  the  precincts  of  Copp's  Hill  without  consulting 
his  father;  and  only  upon  the  evening  of  his  departure 
did  he  seek  the  latter  for  the  purpose  of  proclaiming 
his  emancipation. 

This  interview  took  place  while  Mrs.  Thorp  was 
temporarily  absent  on  a  visit  to  her  old  neighborhood; 
so  that  the  coast  was  entirely  clear  for  such  mutual 
confidences  as  father  and  son  might  feel  disposed  or 
deem  it  advisable  to  exchange. 

"Guv'ner, "  began  Silas,  as  the  two  sat  in  the  front 
room  of  their  home,  that  evening,  ''I've  fixed  it  with 
the  janitor  at  the  school-house  to  help  him  in  his 
work,  and  he's  to  give  me  bed  and  board  for  it." 

"Wot?" 

Joel  looked  up,  dumfounded. 

"You  heard  me,  didn't  you?" 

"I  heerd  somethin*  like  a  joke,  I  think,"  rejoined 
his  father,  savagely. 

"I  mean  it,"  said  Silas,  sententiously. 

"Ye'll  not  do  it." 

"I  will.     It's  all  fixed,  I  tell  you." 

"Do  it  an'  I'll  stop  the  chowder,"  roared  the  sire, 
growing  red  with  anger. 

"Well,"  grumbled  the  boy,  sullenly,  "I'll  get  an  ed- 
ucation somehow." 

Silas  had  all  the  dogged  traits    and  perseverance  of 


DANE    WALRAVEN  6l 

his  father;  but  he  had  also  an  ambition    which  would 
seem  surprising  after  our  acquaintance  with  Joel. 

"How'll  ye  get  it,  ye  whelp?"  shouted  the  latter. 

"I'll  get  it,"  repeated  he. 

The  boy  grew  animated,  as  he  made  this  confident 
answer,  and  further  astonished  -his  irascible  parent 
by  informing  him  that  the  janitor  would  give  him  his 
board  and  bed,  and  one  suit  of  clothes  a  year,  for 
choring,  in  addition  to  other  work  he  was  to  do.  The 
cold  eyes  of  the  youth  shone  with  as  much  exultation 
as  he  was  capable  of  evincing,  and  Joel,  eyeing  him 
askance,  felt  it  would  be  useless  to  continue  the  con- 
test. 

Chuckling  softly  to  himself,  he  turned  toward  his 
rebellious  offspring,  and  with  an  admiring  wink,  ob- 
served amiably, 

"Well,  ye  air  a  cute  un,  Sile;  an'  as  for  me,  w'y 
I've  nothink  more  to  say.  But,"  suddenly  looking 
grave,  "wot'll  ye  do  with  yure  eddication  wen  ye  get  it, 
huh?" 

"I'll  climb  up  on  it,  somehow.  Maybe  I'll  be  a  tutor 
in  some  gentleman's  house." 

"Good  again,"  chuckled  his  thoughtful  parent. 
Then,  after  some  reflection,  his  steel-blue  eye  emitted 
a  spark,  his  thick  hand  smote  his  patched  knee,  and 
he  turned  upon  his  son  as  though  he  would  attack 
him. 

"Hold  a  bit!  "  growled  he,  "air  ye  going  to  forget 
them  two?" 

The  brows  of  the  youth  wrinkled,  until  his  whole 
visage  resembled  that  of  an  old  man;  a  demonish  light 


62  DANE    VVALRAVEN 

danced  in  his  eyes,  and  his    voice  even    more  plainly 
revealed  the  implacable  spirit  within  him: 

"Forget  them!"  cried  he,  shrilly,  i:not  till  my  heart 
forgets  to  beat!" 

"Brayvo,  me  lad,"  shouted  Joel,  clutching  the  boy's 
arm.  "-An'  now,  sence  ye've  showed  the  true  spirit, 
I'll  tell  ye  a  secret.  'Taint  a  long  yarn,  but  it's  a  in- 
terestin'  one.  I  told  yure  es-teemed  an'  wery  intelligent 
step-mother  to  stop  at  Broad  Street  an'  Hamilton  Av'- 
noo,  an'  jaw  that  baker  some  more  'bout  that  dum 
bill  o'  his;  an'  w'en  she  is  a  doin'  that  sort  o'  busi- 
ness she's  not  likely  to  get  through  for  some  time; 
besides  she's  a-wisitin'  old  cronies  to-night;  so,  as 
nobody's  around  except  the  boy,  it's  a  good  time  to 
tell  ye." 

"Don't  she  know  it,  then?"  demanded  Silas,  with  a 
grin  of  blended  surprise  and  amusement. 

Joel  pursed  his  thick  lips,  rolled  his  one  eye 
toward  the  ceiling,  and  clawed  at  his  chin. 

"Sile,"  said  he,  confidentially,  "she  don't.  Yersee," 
he  continued,  apologetically,  "it  were,  as  I  may  say, 
a  hanty-nuptial  agreement." 

"A  what?" 

"W'y,  it  were  this  way: 

"W'en  I  took  your  respected  an'  wery  intelligent 
step-mother  to  my  buzzum,  (because  of  her  conwic- 
tions,  ye  understand,)  she  said  to  me,  sensible-like, 
'Joel,  there's  one  thing  more  to  be  agreed  betwixt  us, 
yet.'  An'  I  said,  'Hannie,  if  it's  about  the  boy  a-livin' 
at  'ome,  I  can't  consent.  His  father's  roof  is  always 
open  to  him — '" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  63 

"Through  the  chimney,  hey?"  laughed  Silas,  who 
had  glimmers  of  wit. 

'An'  I  said,"  pursued  Joel,  dignifiedly  ignoring  the 
levity  of  his  hopeful,  "that  my  'arth  was  allus  here  for 
him  to  warm  himself  by.  An'  I  said,  as  for  the  gyurl, 
w'y,  she's  perwided  for,  an's  gone  to  live  independent 
seein'  she  thought  she  could  not  make  her  way  proper 
in  the  world — w'ich  is  all  before  her— by  bein'  too 
familiar  with  her  own  fam'ly,  w'ich  wos  nat'ral,  an'  I 
didn't  say  no.  But  yure  step-mother  shot  into  the 
conwersation,  an'  said,  says  she,  "  'Taint  about  the 
younguns,  ijit. '  (She's  orful  playful,  yure  es-teemed 
an'wery  intelligent  step-mother  is,  an' her  langwitch  is 
—  is  aljus  forcible.)  'It's  this,' says  she,  'you  'ave  lived 
up  to  date,  an'  so  'ave  I,  likewise.  Wot's  past  out  is 
dead,  an'  wot's  dead  is  buried — or  orter  be.  Wery 
well,  you  dig  nothink  up,  an'  /  dig  nothink  up,  an 
there  won't  be  no  trouble  atween  us  in  the  futur.'  Is 
it  agreed,  deary?'  An'  I  said, 

'Hannie,  I'll  put  yure  conwictions  against  any 
man's  judgment — even  m'own;  it's  agreed,  an'  mum's 
the  word.'" 

"So  ye  see,  me  lad,  I  needn't  rake  a  muck  heap  for 
her  benefits,  need  I?" 

"Course  not.      Now,  tell  me  the  secret." 

"Wery  well,"  assented  his  father,  drawing  his  chair 
closer  to  the  other,  and  assuming  a  manner  quite  at 
variance  with  his  recent  humor.  "Listen  close,  lad; 
an'  don't  say  nothink  till  I'm  through." 

"Wait  a  minute.     Is  there  blood  and  murder  in  it?" 

"Blood  enough,    an'    murder    enough,  but  nobody's 


64  DANE    WALRAVEN 

blood  wos  seen,  an'  nobody  wos  hung  for  murder," 
returned  Joel,  with  a  vicious  leer.  "Now  I'll  tell 
it—" 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE     SEALED 

"Afore  I  married  yure  mother,  Sile,  I  wos  a  boss 
carpenter  in  the  ag-ed  town  of  Carlisle,  Cumberland, 
in  the  ex-treme  north  of  England,  with  all  its  ports 
on  the  Irish  Sea,  an'  Liverpool  its  nearest  great  un. 
Away  down  at  the,  ex-treme  south  end  of  England  is 
the  ag-ed  town  of  Winchester,  in  Hampshire,  with  all 
its  ports  on  the  English  Channel,  an'  Southampton  its 
nearest  great  un.  There  were  not  much  wisitin'  a- 
twixt  the  two  ex-treme  parts  in  them  times,  except  in 
tradin'  lines,  an'  only  the  gentry  of  the  two  ends 
knowed  much  about  wot  wos  goin'  on  in  eyether. 
Stick  that  in  yure  mind,  Sile,  an'  remember,  'cos  it 
has  summut  to  do  with  this  story. 

"Well,  while  I  wos  a-workin'at  me  trade  in  Carlisle, 
I  made  chums  with  Jem  Crouch,  an'  both  of  us  bein' 
forehanded  we  went  to  live  at  the  Royal  Inn,  the  best 
in  Carlisle.  Jem  were  a  barge-owner,  runnin'  on  the 
Solway  Firth  and  up  the  Eden  River  to  Carlisle.  Him 
an'  me  wos  both  thirty-six  an'  unmarried.  But  Jem 
had  two  orful  purty  sisters  a-workin'  as  maids  at  the 
Royal.  One  of  'em  wos  Sary,  a  widder  with  one  child, 
a  be-yootiful  one-year  old  gyurl,  the  father  'aving  been 
a  fine  gentleman  wot  went  off  to  France  an'  married 
an'  never  made  no  perwision  for  them,  an'  died  there. 

65 


66  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"The  other  gyurl  was  Marthy — that  wos  yure  mother 
— we  mourn  her  loss.  I  took  to  Marthy,  an'  she  took 
to  me;  an'  arter  a  bit  the  bans  wos  read  in  church, 
reg'lar,  an'  the'weddin'  wos  to  come  off  immediate. 

"Ten  days  afore  the  happy  ewent,  a  great  misfortin' 
'appened.  It's  a  four  hours'  walk  from  Carlisle  up  to 
Penrith,  an'  a  hour's  walk  from  Penrith  to  Greystoke 
Castle.  Well,  one  day  some  of  the  gentry  from  the 
Castle  come  down  to  Carlisle  to  look  through  the  old 
tower  w'ere  Queen  Mary  Stuart  wos  took  an'  locked 
up  after  she  refugeed  in  Carlisle,  'avin'  been  defeated 
at  Langside,  an'  good  Queen  Bess  not  wishin'  to  'ave 
her  at  liberty  no  longer  in  England. 

"The  people  of  the  Castle  wos  related  to  Queen 
Mary,  an'  the  wisitors  wot  came  with  them  wos  curi- 
ous to  see  where  the  Howard  blood  suffered, 

"One  of  the  gentlemen  wos  Mr.  Walter  Walraven, 
of  Winchester,  an'  his  lady  wos  with  him.  One  wos 
Captain  Howard  Bardell,  the  skipper  of  the  Armadillo, 
a  bachelor.  He  wos  a  cousin  of  the  master  of  the 
Castle.  There  wos  some  more  ladies — two. 

"Well,  it  rained  in  the  forenoon,  an'  kept  it  up  in 
the  afternoon,  an'  the  party  concluded  to  take  rooms 
at  the  Royal  over  night,  an'  drive  back  next  day. 

"The  ladies  didn't  have  no  maids  with  'em,  but  the 
landlord  said  he  could  supply  em  with  the  best,  for 
that  night. 

"The  next  mornin'  there  were  a  great  ho  an'  hallo 
from  the  lady  Walraven  'bout  'aving  been  robbed  in 
the  night  of  her  waluable  jewel-box.  It  wos  a  ex- 
citin'  time  then!  Mr.  Walraven  wos  excited,  an'  the 


DANE    WALRAVEN  67 

skipper  from  Liverpool  wos  excited.  They  said  the 
jewels  wos  worth  twelve  thousand  pounds  an'  wos  heir- 
looms. Well,  Mr.  Walraven  an'  the  skipper  said 
there  wos  thieves  among  the  servants,  an'  they  must 
all  be  took  into  the  dining-hall  one  at  a  time  an'  ex- 
amined. 

"It  wos  done;  an'  him  an'  Captain  Bardell  wos  the 
examiners  an'  the  judges. 

"Jem  an'  me  wos  waitin'  out  in  the  stable-yard  for 
the  gyurls,  not  fearin'  nothink  but  anxious-like.  After 
a  long  time,  yure  mother  come  out,  cryin'. 

"'Wot  is  it?"  says  Jem,  frownin'  because  Sary  wasn't 
with  her. 

"'They've  charged  it  on  us/'  sobs  yure  mother. 

"'W'y?'  says  Jem,  cold  as  ice,  an'  lookin'  black. 

"'Cause  I  helped  Mrs.  Walraven  in  her  rooms  last 
night,  an'  Sary  undressed  her,  an'  was  in  there  after 
she  were  asleep,  foldin'  her  things  an'  tidyin'  up.  An' 
I'm  discharged,'  says  she,  'an'  Sary  has  got  to  go  to 
jail  with  a  bailiff.'  Then  yure  mother  broke  down  and 
Jem  went  off  to  see  after  the  beastly  business. 

"Sary  went  to  jail,  denyin'  she  wos  a  thief,  an'  I 
married  yure  mother,  an'  six  months  after  that  Sary 
died  of  jail  fever.  Then  Jem,  who  had  been  a  prowl- 
in'  round  the  country,  never  speakin'  to  nobody,  sold 
out  his  intrust  in  the  barge,  an'  dusted.  Nobody 
knowed  w'ere  he  went  to — then. 

"I  never  had  no  peace  with  yure  mother,  she  took 
on  so  hard  about  bein'  disgraced  an'  nobody  speakin' 
to  her;  but  she  were  that  gamey  that  she  wouldn't 
leave  Carlisle,  an'  we  stayed  it  out.  But  w'en  her 


68  DANE    WALRAVEN 

sister  died  she  give  up.  You  wos  born,  an'  a  year 
an'  twenty-three  months  after  that  yure  sister  wos 
born.  Then  yure  poor  mother  said,  'There's  one  more 
to  bear  the  burden  of  my  disgrace,'  an'  purty  soon  that 
burden  killed  her.  An'  her  death  wos  at  the  doers  of 
Mr.  Walraven  an'  the  skipper. 

"Afore  Sary  died,  she  sent  for  a  pious  old  soul  wot 
wos  allus  comin'  to  see  the  prisoners  in  the  jail,  an' 
she  begged  him  to  'dopt  her  gyurl.  He  had  no  little 
un  of  his  own,  an'  he  took  the  child,  'aving  took  an 
amazin'  fancy  to  the  purty,  old-fashioned  chick.  Then 
Sary  told  him  as  how  she  had  all  by  herself  wrote 
down  the  history  of  the  robbery,  she  bein'  a  perse- 
cuted wictim  an'  would  he  swear  to  take  it  all  sealed 
up,  an'  deliver  it  to  a  bank  in  Carlisle,  an'  bring  her 
the  bank's  receipt  showin'  they  wos  to  hold  it  an'  de- 
liver it  to  her  darter  at  twenty- — no,  one  and  twenty. 
An'  she  would  pay  the  bank  for  the  service,  an'  he 
said  yes. 

"So  she  give  him  the  package,  an'  it  wos  put  in  a 
bank  an'  she  got  the  receipt,  an'  old  Piety  took  the 
gyurl  home.  Then  Sary  died. 

"After  awhile,  Jem  come  back,  sullen  as  ever.  He 
got  a  sitiwation  up  at  Greystoke  Castle,  an'  I  quarreled 
with  him;  but  he  said  curious-like,  'Wait.'  So  he 
went  off  to  be  gardener  there. 

"That  summer  there  were  some  wisitors  up  there  an' 
Mrs.  Walraven  were  one  of  'em.  One  night  there 
were  a  ball;  it  was  in  the  summerest  kind  of  weather, 
an'  Mrs.  W.  went  out  into  the  grounds  about  mid- 
night, all  alone,  to  cool  off  a  bit.  But  Mrs.  W. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  69 

never  come  into  the  castle  again.  Never  mind  wot 
wos  done  to  find  her,  they  didn't  find  nothin',  an'  it's 
a  mystery  to  this  day — to  most. 

"A  month  after  the  sad  ewent,  Jem  left  his  sitiwa- 
tion.  He  said  it  were  not  interestin'  no  more,  an' be- 
sides, he  didn't  feel  comfortable  up  there  no  more. 
He  went  off  to  Guernsey,  an'  smuggled  awhile,  nearly 
starvin',  an'  then  showed  up  again. 

"One  night  Jem  wrote  me  a  letter  (he  were  a  good 
scholard)  an' — 'Walraven's  still  a-grievin,'  he  says, 
'an'  he's  goin'  to  America,  in  a  fortnight,  on  the  Arma- 
dillo, which  is  the  ship  of  Captain  Bardell,  bound 
from  Liverpool  to  Boston.  If  you  remember  wot  I 
remember,  meet  me  next  Saturday  night  at  ten,  at 
Gretna. ' 

"Well,  we  planned  to  come  over  on  the  Armadillo, 
to  keep  them  two  company.  We  kadn't  heerd  before  we 
shipped,  that  Mr.  Walraven  had  a  child.  It  had 
never  come  to  Cumberland  with  him  an'  his  wife,  an' 
no  gossip  come  to  us  from  tother  end  of  England. 
We  wos  astonished  w'en  we.  saw  the  kid;  but  we  wos 
pleased,  too. 

"Well,  ye  recklek  I  set  ye  to  spyin'  purty  soon  arter 
we  wos  nested,  an'  yure  obserwations  were  a  success. 
Our  operations  wos  not.  There's  a  deal  o1  difference, 
Sile,  'twixt  obserwations  and  operations.  Sometimes 
there's  a  worm  in  the  happle,  w'ich  we  don't  obser- 
wate.  There  were  a  worm  inhour'n.  The  money-box 
got  us  into  trouble;  all  a-owin'  to  the  worm — Dane 
Walraven.  Yure  aweer  wot  'appened  from  then  on. 

"There's  one   more    thing,    howsumdever,  w'ich    is 


70  DANE    WALRAVEN 

a  burr  on  my  mind,  an'  w'ile  I'm  limbered  I'll  include 
it  in  my  remarks.  It  air  this:  Walter  Walraven  come 
on  shore-  that  night  with  his  'ead  queer.  'Ow  do  ye 
suppose  it  'appened?  The  skipper  said  it  were  from 
jammin'  against  the  rocks.  Two  indiwiduals  know, 
me  an'  Jem.  Lean  for'ard,  an' I' 11  whisper  it  to  ye — " 

Joel  had  told  his  story  with  a  tense  strain  upon  his 
features  and  his  voice,  leaning  forward  at  the  last,  to 
impart  some  black  secret  to  his  depraved  son  which 
he  dared  not  reveal  to  the  walls.  His  hands  had 
rested  upon  his  patched  knees,  grasping  them  rigidly, 
his  one  eye  had  glowed  and  darkened  by  turns,  his 
dark  face  broadening  and  contracting  as  his  thoughts 
and  feelings  changed  from  moment  to  moment. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  drew  back  his  chair,  and 
stared  moodily  down  at  the  rough  boards  under  his 
hobnailed  boots. 

Silas  had  been  absolutely  mute  during  the  slow  re- 
cital; but  not  from  stolidity.  His  boyish  face  was 
almost  a  reflection  of  his  father's  in  its  vindictive  ex- 
pression. 

At  length,  Joel  lifted  his  bushy  head,  and  peered 
darkly  out  of  his  single  eye,  the  empty  socket  of  the 
other  giving  his  ugly  face  at  the  moment  a  most  weird 
and  evil  aspect. 

"Now,  me  lad,"  said  he,  slowly,  and  breathing  hard, 
"do  ye  understand  yure  bounden  dooty  to  yer  mother?" 

"Curse  'em,  yes!"  came  the  quick  response,  and  the 
boy's  hands  were  clenched  convulsively. 

"An*  do  ye  remember  the  drubbin'  the  d — d  skipper 
o'  the  Armadillo  give  to  ye,  because  ye  wouldn't  stay- 
below,  like  a  dog?" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  Jl 

Silas  uttered  a  sort  of  moan  but  quickly  suppressed 
it. 

"I'll  always  remember  it,  curse  him!"  he  said, 
fiercely. 

"An*  remember  the  bloody  stripes  the  d — d  skipper 
made  his  ruffians  give  yure  father,  degradin'  'im  for- 
ever?" 

"I  remember,"  muttered  Silas. 

"An'  the  losin'  of  m'  eye,  w'ich  the  said  skipper 
knocked  out,  like  a  brute  as  he  were?" 

"I  remember,"  again  repeated  the  boy, with  a  somber 
look,  but  quivering  now  with  conflicting  passions  which 
his  father  was  deliberately  stirring  up  in  his  young 
breast. 

"An'  ye  remember,  lad,  who  wos  the  cause  of  all 
them  misfortins?  Sile,  /'/  wos  the  kid!" 

Silas  sprang  from  his  chair,  his  youthful  face  livid, 
distorted. 

With  a  vicious  smile,  Joel  noted  the  effect  of  his 
eloquence.  He  had  wrought  the  boy  into  a  frenzy. 
He  extended  his  crooked  fingers. 

"Swear  that  ye'll  help  me  against  'em— to  the 
death,"  said  he,  huskily. 

And  promptly  the  answer  was  hissed  back: 

"To  the  death!" 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  MARSHAL'S  VISIT  TO  THE  ASYLUM 

The  corporate  existence  of  the  city  of  Boston  began 
in  1822.  Its  growth  during  the  ten  years  following 
had  been  steady  and  substantial.  The  population  was 
then  about  eighty  thousand.  The  area  of  the  oblong 
peninsula  reaching  from  Massachusetts  Bay  southwest 
to  Roxbury  embraced  three  hills — Beacon,  rising  to 
an  elevation  of  one  hundred  and  ten  feet  on  the  west; 
Fort,  an  eminence  of  eighty  feet,  facing  the  harbor  on 
the  east;  and  Copp's,  rising  some  fifty  feet  above  tide- 
water, at  the  north  end.  These  hills  have  long  since 
melted  down  to  the  merest  slopes. 

The  "Mill  Dam,"  now  called  Western  Avenue,  and 
reaching  westwardly  from  Beacon  Street,  was  not  then 
the  broad  and  nobte  causeway  over  which  hundreds  of 
fine  equipages  now  are  hourly  seen,  but  a  desolate  ap- 
pearing roadway,  with  modest  and  uninviting  houses 
accentuating  its  sides  and  extending  beyond  through 
the  now  beautiful  and  populous  suburb  of  Brookline. 

West  Boston  bridge  had  been  built,  extending  from 
the  intersection  of  Cambridge  and  Charles  Streets  to 
the  shady  lanes  of  Cambridge;  another,  Canal  bridge, 
also  connecting  this  suburb  at  Lechmere  Point  with 
the  city  at  Brighton  Street.  North  and  Charles  River 
bridges,  at  the  north  end,  reached  over  to  Charlestown; 

72 


t)ANE    WALRAVEN  73 

the  Sea  Street  free  bridge  crossed  the  channel  to  South 
Boston,  and  another  free  bridge  gave  the  same  con- 
nection, crossing  from  Front  Street  at  the  narrowest 
part  of  the  city — at  that  point  a  mere  neck — reaching 
from  Front  on  the  east  to  Tremont  on  the  west.  Front 
Street  is  now  called  Harrison  Avenue;  and  a  glance 
at  a  modern  map  of  Boston  will  give  the  curious  a  sur- 
prise, when  it  is  seen  that  the  enterprise  of  its  citi- 
zens has  robbed  the  waters  of  all  that  domain  lying 
east  of  Harrison  Avenue  and  west  of  Tremont,  at 
their  junction  with  Dover.  Tremont  for  six  hundred 
feet  faced  directly  on  the  "back  water"  to  the  west; 
while  Charles,  from  Boyleston  to  Beacon,  faced  and 
bordered  the  "city  land,"  a  dreary  twenty  acre  tract  of 
marsh  west  of  the  common,  and  sloping  into  the  re- 
ceiving basin. 

The  length  of  the  city  was  then  about  three  miles; 
hence,  the  entire  surveillance  of  all  parts  of  the  town 
was  not  so  difficult  a  task  for  its  guardians  as  a  single 
district  now  is.  But  the  duties  imposed  upon  them  by 
the  council  were  such  as  would  have  taxed  the  utmost 
capacity  of  the  man  with  the  seven-leagued  boots  to 
perform  in  modern  Boston.  It  was  the  special  duty  of 
the  marshal  to  travel  over  and  through  every  street 
and  lane  in  the  city  at  least  once  each  week,  on  a  tour 
of  discovery  and  of  inspection. 

Now,  the  marshal  lived  in  the  north  end  of  the  town; 
and  he  usually  started  on  his  rounds  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  The  most  isolated  of  his  routes  was 
Copp's  Hill.  That  region  was  then  chiefly  devoted  to 
burial  purposes,  and  the  few  habitations  in  the  vicin- 


74  DANE    WALRAVEN 

ity  of  the  graveyards  were  those  of  the  humbler  classes, 
principally;  the  houses  were  mostly  of  wood,  and  were 
of  an  antique  and  austere  style,  which  added  much 
to  the  gloomy  aspect  of  the  locality.  On  the  west 
side  of  the  graveyard  embankment  the  river  then  ran 
close  in-shore,  its  eternal  monologue  sounding  like  a 
requiem,  as  it  washed  the  sand  from  the  rocks  below. 

In  this  dreary  district,  at  the  corner  of  Salem  and 
Charter  Streets,  stood  the  ancient  three -story  brick 
mansion-house  of  old  Governor  Phipps.  The  build- 
ing was  erected  prior  to  the  year  1695,  but  was  still 
in  an  excellent  state  of  preservation.  It  was  now  used 
as  an  Asylum  for  Indigent  Boys;  and  the  institution 
was  presided  over  by  "Mother  Wolcott,"  a  most  esti- 
mable and  large-hearted  lady  as  matron,  assisted  by  a 
score  of  carefully  selected -and  trained  teachers  and 
attendants. 

Here,  boys  who  had  no  means,  and  no  relatives, 
were  provided  with  homes,  and  trained  to  intelligent 
and  useful  employments;  and  the  name,  character,  and 
location  of  the  asylum  had  become  familiar  to  every 
humble  citizen  in  the  city. 

Among  those  who  sometimes  looked  in,  whether 
out  of  curiosity  or  a  desire  to  see  what  accommoda- 
tions were  afforded  the  inmates,  was  the  marshal.  He 
was  a  benevolent  man,  and  had  taken  a  fancy  to  stop 
at  the  asylum  at  intervals,  to  chat  with  the  matron, 
and  hear  the  sometimes  interesting  and  pathetic  stories 
of  the  unfortunate  waifs  who  from  time  to  time  sought 
its  protecting  walls. 

On  a    sharp  January  morning  following  the    events 


DANE    WALRAVEN  75 

recently  recorded,  the  marshal  left  his  home  at  an  un- 
usually early  hour,  his  business  taking  him  on  that 
particular  day  to  Copp's  Hill.  Feeling  the  nip  of  the 
wind,  as  he  passed  the  asylum,  he  decided  to  call -on 
the  matron,  and  enjoy  a  little  toasting  over  the  great 
heater  in  her  comfortable  reception  room. 

Before  he  reached  the  steps,  however,  another  visi- 
tor had  ascended  them,  with  a  timid  and  hesitating 
manner,  as  if  doubtful  of  an  agreeable  reception,  and 
raising  the  iron  knocker,  had  sent  a  peal  through  the 
halls  that  promptly  brought  the  matron  herself  to  the 
door. 

Opening  a  wicket  in  the  center  panel,  through  which 
she  could  converse  freely,  but  which  did  not  admit  of 
so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  the  small  object  standing  on 
the  step  without,  Mother  Wolcott  sharply  hailed  the 
supposed  tradesman  who  had  disturbed  her  at  her 
breakfast: 

"Well,  now,  good  man,  what  brings  you  here  at  this 
hour?  Have  you  been  running  a  race  with  the  sun? 
If  you  have,  you're  ahead  of  him.  But  it's  too  early 
for  trading,  man;  come  later." 

But  to  this  vigorous  greeting  there  was  no  response. 
Somewhat  surprised  at  this,  and  hearing  no  move- 
ment outside,  the  matron's  curiosity  prompted  her  to 
unbolt  and  reconnoiter. 

"Sure,"  she  murmured,  as  she  rattled  the  bolt-chain, 
"it  cannot  be  the  old  governor  himself,  coming  to  pot- 
ter about  the  old  homestead,  or  to  call  us  bodies  to 
account  for  using  it  public!" 

But  the  person  who  confronted  her,  when   the  great 


76  DANE    WALRAVEN 

door  swung  back,  was  somewhat  more  tangible  than 
the  old  governor's  ghost.  It  was  a  small  boy,  shabbily 
dressed,  shivering  with  the  cold  (it  was  the  memo- 
rable 2yth  day  of  January)  and  blowing  his  frosted 
fingers  with  blue  and  stiffened  lips. 

The  matron  glanced  at  him  keenly,    and  ejaculated: 

"Mercy  on  me!     It's  another  of  'em!" 

The  boy  had  taken  off  his  thin  and  threadbare  cap, 
and  was  holding  it  in  his  red  hands  with  as  much 
grace  as  if  he  had  bee'n  a  gentleman's  son.  Indeed,  his 
frank  though  half-frozen  face  bore  the  stamp  of  natural 
gentility;  and  had  he  been  a  well-fed  and  well-clothed 
boy,  he  would  have  been  in  appearance  as  well  as 
manners — "a  gentleman's  son." 

The  matron  stared  at  the  curly  head,  as  it  bent  with 
a  respectful  bow,  and  into  the  clear  blue  eyes  that 
were  lifted  inquiringly  and  wistfully  to  her  motherly 
face,  and  held  out  her  plump  hand. 

"Come  in,  child,"  in  a  voice  that  was  musical  to 
the  shivering  lad,  though  a  little  shrill  to  the  servants 
inside;  and  she  drew  him  into  the  warm  hall,  and 
closed  the  door. 

During  this  incident,  the  marshal  had  stood  on  the 
pavement  a  few  yards  away,  an  unobserved  but  a  de- 
cidedly interested  observer.  There  was  a  very  pleas- 
ant smile  on  his  own  red  face,  as  he  turned  away;  and 
a  thoughtful  look  came  stealing  into  it,  as  he  said  to 
himself: 

"That  boy's  face  takes  right  hold  of  me — it  does  so!" 
And  after  he  had  walked  briskly  forward  for  a  dozen 
yards  or  so,  he  concluded  his  soliloquy  with  emphasis: 
"Yes,  I'm  going  to  see  more  of  this— I  am  so." 


DANE    WALRAVEN  77 

A  dozen  times  that  day  he  thought  of  the  lad  at  the 
asylum  door;  and  that  night  when  he  entered  his  child- 
less but  pleasant  home,  he  said  to  his  good-natured 
wife,  to  whom  he  had  told  the  incident  while  they  sat 
looking  into  the  fire: 

"Somehow,  I  feel  as  if  it  was  fortunate  that  I  saw 
it;"  and  then  he  added,  half-musingly : 

"I'm  going  to  see  more  of  this." 

What  was  it  that  impressed  him?  He  could  not 
have  told  himself.  But,  if  his  meaning  was  not  pro- 
phetic his  words  were:  he  was  going  to  see  a  great 
deal  more  of  "it." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CHARLIE  VINCENT'S  STORY 

The  ordering  of  human  events,  if  confined  to  one 
sentient  and  occult  power,  is  an  operation  of  intelli- 
gence, and  calls  for  the  exercise  of  wisdom  which 
none  save  an  omnipotent  God  can  be  presumed  to 
possess.  Accidental  meetings,  acts  at  "hap-hazard," 
chance  occurrences,  casualties,  all  these  are  but  hol- 
low phrases,  exposing  the  feeble  subterfuges  to  which 
our  helpless  minds  resort  in  the  hopeless  effort  to  ex- 
plain life's  happenings.  The  trite  reflection  that  great 
events  often  find  their  causation  in  a  bundle  of  trivial 
circumstances,  is  constantly  recurring  to  our  minds, 
when  we  see  it  again  and  again  proven  in  our  own  and 
others'  lives;  until  at  length  the  thinker  ceases  to  say 
of  the  most  insignificant  happening: 

"It  is  of  no  consequence." 

The  unusual  energy  of  the  marshal  on  a  frosty  morn- 
ing; the  subtle  (and  perhaps  self-unconscious)  work- 
ings of  his  mind  which  impelled  his  feet  at  a  particular 
moment  i-n  the  direction  of  the  asylum;  the  unknown 
and  perhaps  innumerable  concatenation  of  circum- 
stances, inducements,  and  impulses  which  led  the 
friendless  boy  to  the  door  of  the  refuge  at  the  moment 
the  marshal  reached  it;  the  unexplainable  interest  of 
the  latter  in  the  strange  waif — all  these  and  many  other 

78 


DANE    WALRAVEN  7Q 

following  circumstances  led  to  the  enactment  of  part 
of  a  life-drama  in  which  good  and  evil  contended  to 
the  death;  and  gave  to  the  little  waif  at  the  door  an 
importance  incalculable  in  the  life-struggle  we  are  yet 
to  describe. 

Let  us  now  enter  the  warm  and  cheerful  sitting- 
room  of  Mothei  Wolcott,  since  the  fate  of  this  boy 
concerns  us,  and  learn  what  disposition  she  will  make 
of  him.  Be  sure  she  will  not  turn  him  out  into  the 
street  again.  She  was  not  one  of  the  army  of  every- 
day saints  who  regard  misfortune  as  a  crime  second 
only  to  that  of  murder. 

We  find  her  holding  his  stiffened  fingers  in  her  warm 
hands,  and  chafing  them  while  she  puts  the  necessary 
questions  in  a  voice  at  once  gentle  and  sympathetic. 

"Now,  my  child,"  she  said,  seating  him  near  the 
glowing  stove  fire,  "you  may  tell  me  your  errand, 
though  I  think  I  know  it." 

The  boy's  voice  was  singularly  musical,  and  it  car- 
ried in  its  tones  the  burden  of  a  sorrow,  as  he  an- 
swered: 

"If  you  please,  ma'am,  I  was  told  that  if  I  came  here 
and  told  all  about  myself,  I  could  be  taken  care  of." 

The  matron  scrutinized  him  curiously.  "What  is 
your  name?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"Charlie  Vincent,  and  I  am  eleven  years  old." 

"Ah.      Is  that  your  real  name?" 

"Oh,  yes,  ma'am,"  replied  the  boy,  opening  his  eyes 
widely  with  surprise,  and  he  added,  reassuringly: 

"I  was  born  with  it." 

This  naive  remark,  spoken  with  earnestness,  brought 


80  DANE    WALRAVEN 

a  smile  into  the  benevolent  face.  But  she  observed, 
with  perfect  gravity: 

"Indeed!     Then  it  must  be  your  very  own." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"   gravely. 

"Very  well.  Now,  master  Charlie,  have  you  a  mother 
and  father,  or  either?" 

The  boy  looked  down  at  his  feet,  his  expressive 
features  clouding,  as  he  murmured: 

"Mother  and  father  died  ever  so  long  ago." 

"And  you  have  no  relations?" 

"No,  ma'am,  but  Joel  Thorp  he  says  he  is  my  uncle 
—  but  he  isn't." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

The  matron's  voice  had  grown  a  little  tremulous. 
The  grave  and  subdued  manner,  the  sad  but  honestly 
brave  little  face,  the  evident  intelligence,  yet  friend- 
less appearance  of  the  lad,  all  were  eloquently  appeal- 
ing to  her  woman's  heart,  and  drawing  her  to  him. 

"I  did  live  with  Joel  Thorp,"  replied  he,  with  a 
visible  shudder,  "but  I  have  runaway  from  him,  and," 
with  a  sudden  defiance  in  his  tone,  "I  won't  go  back 
there  again." 

"And  who  is  this  Thorp?" 

The  boy's  eyes  flashed  with  indignation,  as  he  an- 
swered, vehemently: 

"He's  the  baddest  man  in  the  whole  world!" 

"Ah?     And  where  does  this  bad  man  live?" 

"Right  up  at  the  end  of  this  street — Charter  Street, 
ma'am.  But  he  keeps  a  pawnbroker's  shop  in  it." 

"And  how  did  he  come  by  you?" 

"I  was  pawned  to  him,"  replied  the  boy,  with  ear- 
nestness 


DANE    WALRAVEN  Ol 

"What?     Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Why,  I'll  just  tell  you  how  it  was.  You  see,  Joel 
Thorp  has  a  partner,  and  his  name  is  Jemmy  Crouch. 
Well,  I  was  workin'  for  Mr.  Murray,  the  baker,  at 
the  corner  of  Broad  Street  and  Hamilton  Avenue,  and 
Joel  bought  all  his  bread  and  cakes  and  pies  there, 
and  never  paid  Mr.  Murray  any  money,  and  they  had 
a  quarrel.  The  morning  after  the  quarrel  Jem  Crouch 
came  into  the  bakery.  I  never  saw  him  before,  and  I 
didn't  know  he  was  Joel  Thorp's  partner,  and  Mr. 
Murray  didn't  either.  Well,  I  had  to  sleep  down  in 
the  shop;  and  Jem  Crouch  was  asking  me  about  it,  and 
said  it  was  too  cold  for  a  small  boy  like  me.  So  he 
said  to  Mr.  Murray  that  he  wanted  a  trusty  lad,  and 
would  he  let  me  go  for  a  month  to  work  in  an  office 
on  the  wharf.  And  Mr.  Murray  said  yes,  if  I  wanted 
to.  So  I  went  with  him  ;  but  he  took  me  to  Joel  Thorp's 
shop  up  here,  and  said  to  Joel  that  he  wanted  to 
pawn  a  boy.  And  Joel,  he  said  all  right,  and  they 
laughed.  Then  Joel  told  me  he  was  my  uncle,  and  if 
I  ever  said  no,  he'd  cut  my  ears  off,  and  maybe  worse. 
He  wouldn't  let  me  go  out  of  the  shop;  and  that 
night  Mr.  Murray's  house  was  burned  up,  and  him. 
and  Mrs.  Murray  and  his  three  children  were  burned 
up  in  it.  Joel  took  my  clothes  and  put  them  in  the 
shop,  and  gave  me  these  old  things,  and  watched  me 
like  a  cat,  so  T  couldn't  see  or  talk  to  anybody;  and 
he  told  me  about  the  fire,  and  that  I  had  no  home  but 
his.  I  reckon  he  had  been  praying  to  the  bad  man 
for  the  house  to  burn  up,  because  he  told  Mr.  Murray 
when  they  quarreled  that  he  would  ruin  him  before 


82  DANE    WALRAVEN 

the  next  sun  was  in  China.  Well,  he  made  me  do  all 
kinds  of  hard  work,  and  near  starved  me.  So,  a  boy 
told  me  about  this  place;  and  I  thought  I  would  come 
here.  I  won't  go  back  there  any  more." 

"And  your  name — what  is  it?" 

"Charlie  Vincent." 

"Does  Joel  Thorp  know  you  were  coming  here?" 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am!"  exclaimed  the  lad,  with  a  fright- 
ened look,  "and.  please  don't  tell  him!" 

"No,  I  will  not  tell  him.  So,  that  is  the  whole  story, 
is  it?" 

Charlie  reflected  a  moment. 

"That's  all  about  me,"  he  replied,  "but  Joel  was 
always  talking  with  Jem  Crouch  most  every  night  about 
a  man  and  a  boy  they  hated,  and  were  going  to  payoff 
old  scores.  And  when  they  talked  of  it  they  always 
got  excited,  and  said  terrible  things." 

"Never  mind,  my  child,  you  will  stay  here,  now." 

"Oh,  ma'am,  shall  I,  though?"  cried  the  boy;  and 
springing  from  his  seat  he  seized  the  matron's  hand, 
while  his  lips  quivered  painfully.  His  long-pent  misery 
flooded  forth  in  sobs  and  tears  now;  and  his  little  man- 
ful breast  relieved  itself  on  the  bosom  of  the  first 
friend  he  had  found  since  his  mother's  life  went  out. 

Within  a  week  after  this  adoption,  the  marshal 
called  at  the  asylum,  and  made  Charlie's  acquaintance; 
and  at  the  end  of  his  rather  long  sitting,  the  officer  in- 
formed Mother  Wolcott  that  he  intended  to  keep  an 
eye  on  the  lad. 

"And,"  he  concluded,  "maybe  I'll  train  him  to  be. 
a  detective  yet!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BOYLESTON  BURIAL  GROUND  ROBBERS 

On  the  morning  of  the  2gth  day  of  April,  the  sun 
rose  blood-red  over  the  sweltering  city  of  Boston.  At 
noon,  the  temperature  was  ninety  degrees,  inside  the 
doorway  of  the  City  Hall. 

In  the  Common,  the  trees  and  grass  were  as  green  as 
in  June;  the  flowers  were  blooming  exuberantly,  birds 
were  twittering  overhead,  and  insects  droning  in  the 
drowsy  air. 

A  feeling  of  languor  pervaded  the  few  who  were 
abroad  in  the  sun;  and  the  shops  along  Tremont 
Street  were  deserted,  the  street  silent. 

At  twelve  o'clock  of  that  phenomenally  hot  day,  a 
man  and  a  woman  entered  the  Common  through  the 
central  entrance  from  Tremont  Street,  and  walked 
slowly  southward  toward  the  Boyleston  burial-ground, 
where  they  seated  themselves  upon  one  of  the  wooden 
benches  near  the  Charles  Street  mall. 

This  little  realm  of  the  dead,  originally  a  tract  of 
one  acre  wedged  out  of  the  extreme  south  end  of  the 
Common,  had  been  gradually  encroached  upon  by  the 
living  who  made  a  broad  footpath  for  "a  short  cut" 
among  the  tombs;  until  finally  the  council  had  caused 
the  strip  now  running  from  Tremont  to  Charles  to  be 
opened  as  a  mall.  There  is  now  a  considerable  space 
between  the  graveyard  and  the  iron  fence  facing  Boyle- 

83 


84  DANE    WALRAVEN 

ston  Street;  but  at  that  date  this  mall  had  no  exist- 
ence. Otherwise,  the  aspect  of  the  place  has  changed 
but  little.  There  are  one  hundred  and  fifty  tombs  in 
this  ancient  enclosure;  and  within  them  repose  the 
dead  of  four  generations.  Within  the  iron  fence,  close 
to  the  Beacon  Street  mall,  and  extending  northward  for 
a  considerable  distance,  is  a  grass-roofed  terrace  of 
tombs  with  a  central  wall  through  its  entire  length, 
dividing  full  length  recesses.  These  recesses  are 
about  four  feet  apart,  and  are  secured  on  the  outside — 
facing  Beacon  and  Tremont  Streets  respectively — by 
square  iron  doors  with  strong  locks. 

On  the  stone  coping  over  many  of  these  mortuary 
chambers  he  who  reads  may  see  the  name  of  the  pale 
occupant  cut  in  the  stone  or  painted  upon  it,  with 
other  solemn  details,  and  always  a  .number;  but  here 
and  there  he  will  see  nothing  to  indicate  who  lies 
within  the  dark  and  grisly  receptacle,  nothing  save 
the  mysterious  number. 

It  was  in  front  of  one  of  these  nameless  apertures 
that  the  two  strangers  had  seated  themselves.  Not 
strangers  to  us,  however,  for  the  single  steel-blue  eye 
and  empty  socket  in  one  of  the  faces  unmistakably 
belong  to  Joel  Thorp,  while  the  greenish-gray  eyes  of 
the  woman  betray  the  identity  of  the  former  Mrs. 
Mock,  supposedly  the  wife  now,  of  the  master  of  the 
'ome  on  the  'ill.  Supposably,  not  certainly,  as  we 
shall  hereafter  discover. 

Now  and  again  some  fagged  pedestrian,  more  observ- 
ant or  more  suspicious  than  the  rest,  would  cast  a 
sidelong  glance  at  the  pair,  whose  ill-favored  counte- 


DANE    WALRAVEN  85 

nances  would  certainly  have  invited  no  man's  con- 
fidence, and  generally  excited  aversion.  These  glances, 
however,  were  entirely  unheeded  by  the  silent  couple, 
whose  gaze  remained  steadily  and  intently  fixed  upon 
the  iron  door,  as  though  like  ghouls  they  waited  for  it 
to  yawn  and  give  up  to  them  some  ghastly  prey. 

A  distant  bell  had  slowly  tolled  the  hour  of  one, 
when  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  woman  turned  toward  the 
southwest  entrance,  approaching  which  were  three  men 
bearing  a  plain  wooden  box. 

In  a  moment  she  was  on  her  feet. 

"Get  up!"  she  whispered,  tugging  at  Joel's  sleeve, 
"we're  too  near.  Let's  walk  around  outside  so  that 
we  won't  be  noticed." 

But  Joel,  who  was  oppressed  by  the  heat,  continued 
to  nod  in  his  seat  under  the  great  elms,  and  muttered 
vaguely: 

"What  for?" 

Mrs.  Thorp  bent  her  angular  body  over  him,  grasped 
him  by  the  collar,  and  shrilled  into  his  drowsy  ear: 

"Get  up,  you  ijit!   they're  coming!" 

Fully  roused  now,  he  rose  and  followed  her  out  into 
Boyleston  Street,  where  they  proceeded  to  promenade 
slowly  back  and  forth  until  the  men  had  passed  in, 
when  they  walked  around  into  Beacon  Street,  watch- 
ing  the  particular  iron  door  with  feverish  eagerness. 

Meanwhile,  the  three  men  with  the  coffin-box  had 
deposited  it,  opened  the  door  with  a  key,  and  drawn 
from  the  chamber  a  long  rosewood  coffin  covered  with 
a  bluish  mold.  This  they  placed  in  the  box,  which 
they  were  in  the  act  of  screwing  down,  when  a  police- 
man confronted  them. 


86  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  demanded,  suspiciously, 
glancing  from  one  to  the  other. 

With  perfect  composure,  one  of  the  three,  who  had 
been  directing  the  others,  answered: 

"Moving  a  relative's  remains." 

"Whose?"  persisted  the  inquisitive  officer. 

"Oh,"  retorted  the  other,  flippantly,  "corpses  is  all 
alike,  they  ain't  nothing  and  nobody's." 

"Have  you  a  permit  to  remove  it?" 

The  policeman's  scrutiny  assumed  a  severity  which 
appeared  to  create  a  spasm  in  the  breasts  of  Joel  and 
his  wife;  they  crept  closer  to  the  iron  fence,  and  list- 
ened with  increased  eagerness. 

With  a  sullen  movement,  the  man  addressed  took 
from  his  pocket  a  paper,  which  he  handed  to  the 
officer.  The  latter  read  it  carefully  through,  passed  it 
back,  and  observed: 

"It's  signed  by  James  Crouch,  assistant  superintend- 
ent of  burial-grounds.  That  ain't  exactly  regular, 
but  I  s'pose  it's  all  right." 

"Of  course,"  grumbled  the  other,  thrusting  the 
paper  back  into  his  pocket,  and  re-adjusting  the  lid  of 
the  box,  which  the  policeman  had  pushed  aside. 

"It  looks  queer,  though,"  muttered  the  latter. 

"Queer,  eh?  Well,  you  don't  think  we're  stealing 
corpses,  do  you?  Especially  such  stale  ones  as  this 
here,  and  in  broad  daylight,  too." 

"No,  that  wouldn't  be  likely,"  assented  the  officer, 
moving  away. 

His  suspicions  would  have  had  a  lively  reawakening, 
had  he  noticed  the  couple  peering  in  at  him  during 


DANE    WALRAVEN  87 

this  colloquy;  but  the  extraordinary  heat  had  rendered 
him  as  listless  as  it  had  others,  and  perhaps  a  little 
indifferent,  and  he  passed  on  slowly  out  of  the  grounds, 
followed  by  the  three  gleaming  eyes  until  he  was  out 
of  sight. 

The  manner  of  the.  watchers  now  changed  completely 

An  exultant  smile  intensified  the  ugliness  of  both, 
as  they  hurried  away  from  the  fence. 

"Everythink  is  all  right,  so  far,"  chuckled  Joel,  as 
they  turned  into  Charle  Street. 

"Yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Thorp,  dryly,  "the  hot  sun 
helped  uncommon;  it's  kept  people  off  the  streets  con- 
sider'ble,  an'  encouraged  'em  to  mind  their  own  busi- 
ness— them  that  is  out. " 

"Your  conwictions  wos  right  again,  my  dear,"  ob- 
served Joel,  with  an  admiring  leer;  "you  told  Jem  to 
have  the  permit  ready,  an'  the  men,  so  that  the  busi- 
ness could  be  done  w'en  the  weather  wos  fittest,  w'ich 
wos  most  intelligent,  Mrs.  Thorp,  an'  does  honor  to 
yure  conwictions." 

The  woman  striding  by  his  side  scarcely  heard  this 
flattering  commentary.  She  was  absorbed  in  thought. 

"You  saw  the  man  put  there?"  she  suddenly  asked. 

"With  m'    own — eye." 

"And  you  saw  with  'your  own  eye'  the  medal  on  his 
breast? " 

"Hangin'  by  a  gold  chain." 

The  woman  nodded  her  satisfaction.  Then  it's 
hangin'  there  yet,  an'  'twill  prove  it's  him, "  she  con- 
cluded, grimly. 

"Of  course.  An'  now,  about  the  witness  at  the  other 
end?" 


88  DANE   WALRAVEN 

"Jem  was  to  write  to  the  girl;  an'  of  course  he's  done 
it." 

"An'  she'll  go;  she  has  my  blood  an'  temper,  an' — 
she  remembers." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  GRAVE-DIGGERS   AT  CHESTNUT    HILL 

On  the  morning  of  the  mysterious  removal  of  the 
coffin  from  the  Boyleston  Street  burial-ground  the  as- 
sistant superintendent  sat  in  the  office  of  his  superior, 
writing  a  letter.  After  he  had  finished,  he  took  it  in 
both  hands,  turned  himself  in  his  chair  with  a  squirm- 
ing movement,  and  read  it  aloud,  probably  to  hear 
how  it  would  sound.  It  bore  no  name  at  the  top,  but 
began  abruptly,  and  ran  as  follows: 

"Go  out  to  Chestnut  Hill  to  the  graveyard,  to-morrow 
night,  one  hour  after  dark.  Pass  along  the  avenue  with 
the  reservoir  on  your  left  until  you  come  to  the  bend 
in  the  road.  There  turn  into  the  burying-ground  to 
your  right,  and  proceed  until  you  come  to  three  large 
pine  trees  on  your  left.  There  to  your  right  you  will 
see  a  square  raised  space  enclosed  by  a  gray  stone  base, 
just  beyond  a  long  gray  stone  vault  which  juts  out  of  a 
mound  and  faces  the  path  at  that  point.  At  the  middle 
of  the  front  of  the  base  there  is  an  entrance  to  the 
square  enclosure,  formed  by  a  square  stone  slab  with 
three  stone  steps  rising  above  it.  Over  a  tomb  in  the 
enclosure  is  a  black  urn;  and  cut  in  the  facing  slab  is 
a  number — 150 — and  a  name  also.  (Note  this  descrip- 
tion carefully.) 


DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Sit  down  on  the  lowest  of  the  three  steps,  and  watch 
the  sunken  ground  running  along  past  the  three  pine 
trees.  Two  men  will  bring  something  there,  and  will 
leave  it  under  the  trees.  What  you  see  must  be  re- 
membered; you  may  have  to  swear  that  you  saw  it, 
hereafter.  Be  careful,  therefore,  to  take  notice  of  every- 
thing; and  do  you  neither  move  nor  speak  while  the 
work  is  being  done  under  the  trees.  Wait  there,  un- 
til one  of  the  two  men  comes  to  you,  and  says: 

"'It  is  there.' 

'Then  you  will  answer,   'I  have  seen  all.' 

"You  will  then  return  to  the  city,  by  the  Gardener 
road,  as  fast  as  you  possibly  can." 

No  name  was  signed  to  this  mysterious  epistle;  but 
at  its  close,  there  was  a  circle  drawn  in  red  ink,  with 
some  unintelligible  initials  on  the  inside  of  the  circle. 

When  the  letter  was  enveloped  and  sealed,  Mr. 
Crouch  called  an  office  boy. 

"Take  this  to  number  five  hundred  and  thirty-two." 
said  he,  "and  come  straight  back  here.  Don't  wait." 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  had  elapsed,  when  the 
boy  returned. 

"You  stayed  a  long  time,"  snarled  the  official. 

"Well,  she  made  me  wait  while  she  read  it,"  ex- 
plained the  messenger. 

"Oh,  she  did,  eh?     Well,  how  did  she  act?" 

"She  said  she  understood  it,  and  would  be  there  on 
time;  but  she'turned  very  pale,  and  kept  drawing  her 
breath  hard,  and  then  she  shoved  the  letter  in  the 
bosom  of  her  dress  and  hurried  out  of  the  house,  and  I 
came  away." 


DANE    WALRAVEN  QI 

"Very  well.  Now  take  this  one  to  Mr.  Bardell, 
at  precisely  nine  o'clock  to-night,  and  don't  fail  to  de- 
liver it  to  him,  personally,"  putting  another  sealed 
letter  into  the  boy's  hand.  Then  he  buttoned  his  coat 
tightly  over  his  lean  chest,  and  with  an  evil  smile  at 
his  own  thoughts,  left  the  building. 

Eight  o'clock  that  evening,  one  hour  after  dark,  a 
young  woman  wearing  a  black  veil  closely  wrapped 
about  her  head  and  face,  turned  into  the  burial-ground 
at  Chestnut  Hill,  and  going  directly  toward  the  en- 
closure described  in  the  letter  whose  contents  we  have 
given,  seated  herself  on  the  wide  stone  slab. 

It  was  an  uncanny  place  for  a  woman  at  such  a  time; 
an  isolated  spot,  with  few  passers-by  in  the  daytime, 
far  from  any  house  or  habitation,  and  now  full  of 
gruesome  shadows  that  shifted  about  like  restless 
spirits.  Overhead,  the  black  trunks  of  lofty  chestnut 
trees  uprose  in  ghostly  groups,  their  wide-spreading 
branches  richly  but  darkly  clothed  with  shivering 
foliage,  while  the  wind  whispered  among  the  crisp 
leaves  that  eternal  song  for  the  dead  which  one  always 
hears  there. 

While  the  girl  looked  about  her  with  a  cautious 
movement  through  her  black  veil,  she  showed  no  trep- 
idation or  sign  of  fear;  and  having  satisfied  herself 
that  she  was  absolutely  alone,  she  rested  her  arm 
against  the  side  of  the  base,  her  chin  upon  her  hand, 
and  gave  herself  up,  apparently,  to  profound  thought. 

Of  what  could  she  have  been  thinking,  in  that 
solemn  place,  alone  with  .the  dead?  What  had  she 
come  to  witness  among  those  ghastly  sleepers?  Was 


Q2  DANE    WALRAVEN 

it  some  deed  of  sacrilege?  a  profanation?  a  resurrec- 
tion? A  strange  mission,  surely;  but  the  moment  of 
explanation  was  at  hand. 

Suddenly  there  came  to  her  listless  ears  the  grinding 
sound  of  wheels  on  the  graveled  road  that  skirted  the 
great  lake  of  murmurless  water.  The  sound  came 
nearer,  and  the  wheels  moved  slower,  until  at  last  they 
stopped  at  the  point  where  she  had  turned  into  the 
graveyard.  Then,  through  the  thick  night-mists  the 
forms  of  two  men  approached  the  three  pines  in  front 
of  her,  carrying  a  long  coffin  box  of  dark  wood,  and 
laid  it  down  at  the  foot  of  the  largest  of  the  trees. 
Returning  to  the  vehicle  which  stood  in  the  road,  they 
took  from  it  each  a  spade  and  mattock,  brought  these 
to  the  spot,  and  began  rapidly  digging — a  grave. 

The  hooded  face  of  the  girl  was  turned  steadfastly 
toward  them;  not  a  word  escaped  her,  not  a  movement 
was  discernible,  while  they  kept  on  through  the  drag- 
ging minutes — until  an  hour  had  been  spent  in  hollow- 
ing and  deepening  the  grave.  When  they  had  finished 
their  dismal  task,  they  lifted  the  coffin-box  over  the 
pit,  and  lowered  it  down  with  ropes.  Then  the  earth 
was  rapidly  thrown  in,  and  trampled  down,  and  some 
turf  gathered  and  packed  over  the  moist  loam,  and  the 
work  was  done. 

During  all  this  time  not  a  word  had  broken  the  im- 
pressive stillness;  but  now,  one  of  the  men  came  slowly 
toward  the  girl,  and  leaning  forward,  said  in  a  distinct 
tone: 

"It  is  there!" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  turned  away,  re- 


DANE    WALRAVEN  93 

joined  his  companion,  and  the  two  went  out  to  the 
road.  In  another  moment  the  sound  of  rapid  wheels 
stirred  the  silence,  fast  receding,  dying  awa)',  and  leav- 
ing the  same  profound  stillness  as  before. 

But  the  girl,  as  if  her  weird  surroundings  held  her 
to  the  spot  as  in  a  spell,  sank  down  again  upon  the 
gray  stone,  and  a  sound  that  was  something  like  a 
moan,  escaped  her.  Leaning  her  head  upon  one  hand, 
she  looked,  with  the  black  cowl  muffling  and  conceal- 
ing her  face,  like  some  ghoulish  visitant  from  Eblis. 

Suddenly,  while  she  sat  shivering,  eyeing  the  tomb- 
stone nearest  her,  the- moon  rose  in  full  and  cloudless 
splendor.  Its  first  beams  rested  upon  the  face  of  the 
gray  headstone  upon  which  her  gaze  had  fallen  with 
melancholy  abstraction,  and — with  a  start  as  if  a  spirit 
had  risen  before  her — she  read  this  one  sweet  word, 
cut  deeply  in  the  headstone: 

"MOTHER." 

She  stood  up,  panting,  her  dark  garb  paling  in  the 
sheen  of  the  white  moonlight,  still  gazing  on  that 
name,  her  form  trembling,  sobs  struggling  from  her 
heaving  bosom. 

Then,  with  a  quick  gesture  of  defiance  flung  at  the 
ghostl)7  pines  in  front  of  her,  as  though  they  were  her 
accusers,  she  darted  away  from  the  spot,  out  into  the 
solitary  road,  along  the  still  and  sparkling  reservoir, 
and  vanished  among  the  winding  paths  toward  the 
sleeping  city. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE  RANSOM  OF  A   DEAD  MAN 

The  marriage  of  Captain  Howard  BardeJl  and  Clara 
Phillips  had  been  consummated  at  the  First  Church, 
a  short  tour  had  been  made,  and  the  Tremont  Street 
residence  had  received  them. 

Never,  perhaps,  had  lovelier  bride  entered  a  home 
as  its  mistress,  than  the  fortunate  captain  brought  in- 
to his;  and  never,  perhaps,  were  man  and  woman  bet- 
ter mated.  The  horizon  of  their  double  life  was  spot- 
less, and  they  rightly  felt  that  their  future  ought  to  be 
at  once  peaceful  and  happy. 

It  was  noonday.  April  was  making  its  exit  in  all 
the  brilliant  colors,  and  with  all  the  languid  airs  of 
June.  Its  breath  was  like  the  dew  from  poppies,  bring- 
ing to  the  senses  sleepy  reveries. 

Seated  by  an  open  window  was  the  captain,  watch- 
ing with  half-closed  eyes  and  placid  smile  the  hum- 
ming-bird industriously  darting  in  and  out  of  the 
honeysuckle  bells  that  wreathed  the  window  frame.  A 
sweet  song  was  rippling  down  to  him  from  the  cham- 
ber above,  taught  by  the  captain  to  his  fair  young 
wife — 

"He  passed  red  Penrith's  Table  Round, 
For  feats  of  chivalry  renowned; 
Left  Mayborough's  mound,  and  stones  of  power 
By  Druids  raised  in  magic  hour; 
And  traced  the  Eamont's  winding  way, 
Till  Ulfo's  lake  beneath  him  lay." 
94 


DANE    WALRAVEN  95 

Upon  the  soft  carpet  at  his  feet,  his  golden  head 
pillowed  on  one  plump  arm,  lay  the  boy  who  had  crept 
into  his  heart  before  her,  and  now  shared  its  warmth, 
drowsing  through  the  heated  noonday. 

The  old  Scotch  housekeeper  peered  into  the  room, 
and  held  out  a  soiled  letter. 

"It  came  last  night,"  she  explained,  "after  you  had 
taken  the  last  wink,  and  I  wouldnae  arouse  ye.  So  I 
laid  it  on  the  kitchen  shelf,  an'  not  until  this  minute 
did  I  remember  it." 

The  captain  took  the  letter,  with  an  indulgent  smile, 
and  broke  the  seal.  And  this  is  what  he  read: 

"MR.  HOWARD  BARDELL,  SIR: — I  obtained  the  situa- 
tion of  assistant  superintendent  of  burial-grounds 
through  your  influence,  and  by  your  help.  I  wanted 
the  place  for  a  particular  purpose — to  rob  the  grave 
of  the  body  of  a  deadly  enemy— Walter  Walraven. 
You  have,  therefore,  been  my  accomplice  in  stealing  the 
corpse  of  your  friend,  and  the  father  of  the  boy  you 
have  adopted.  You  can  right  the  wrong  you  have  done 
the  father  and  son,  if  you  act  within  twenty-four  hours 
from  this  (ten  o'clock,  p.  m.),  and  in  but  one  way.  I 
want  money;  I  will,  therefore,  let  my  revenge  rest,  if 
you  will  accept  my  terms.  Here  they  are: 

"You  will  go  to  the  Boyleston  Street  burial-ground 
to-morrow  at  two  in  the  afternoon,  and  examining  the 
vault,  chamber  No. — ,  and  rinding  it  empty  (as  you 
will),  you  are  to  go  from  there  to  •  the  Stone  Chapel 
(you  will  find  it  open),  kneel  at  the  tomb  of  your  kins- 
man —  Vassall,  whose  memory  you  are  so  reverent  of, 
and  repeat  this  oath  aloud: 


96  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"'I,  Howard  Bardell,  do  solemnly  swear  in  this  holy 
sanctuary,  that  I  will  pay  to  the  person  who  reveals 
to  me  the  body  of  Walter  Walraven  (unharmed,  ex- 
cept from  natural  decay,)  at  the  moment  I  look  upon 
the  said  body,  $2,000  in  gold.  If  I  fail  to  so  pay,  may 
I  inherit  eternal  misery. 

"'And  I  further  swear,  by  the  soul  of  my  dead  kins- 
man here  entombed,  that  I  will  not  betray,  molest, 
or  cause  to  be  molested,  betrayed,  or  imprisoned  for 
taking,  or  concealing,  or  selling  said  body,  any  person 
or  persons  guilty  of  said  offense,  nor  seek  to  discover 
who  my  guide  to  the  place  where  the  body  is  depos- 
ited is,  or  where  such  person  goes  after  leaving  me 
there;  and  if  I  violate  this  oath,  may  my  said  kins- 
man's soul  be  devoured  by  everlasting  flames.' 

"You  will  see  no  one  near  you,  but  your  oath  will  be 
heard;  and  you  will  be  seen.  You  will  then  proceed 
with  the  money  (which  you  will  get  in  the  morning, 
of  course,)  at  exactly  eight  o'clock,  to  the  shaded  lane 
in  Brookline,  called  Still  Street,  turning  toward  the 
right  from  the  road,  and  stopping  half-way  to  the 
farther  of  two  large  chestnut  trees  on  the  left  side  of 
the  street.  There  one  will  come  to  you,  and  will  lead 
you  to  the  spot.  Ask  nothing,  make  no  attempt  to 
learn  anything,  and  all  will  be  well.  But,  if  all  this 
is  not  "performed  to  the  letter,  the  body  of  Walter 
Walraven  will,  within  one  hour  after  eight  o'clock  to- 
morrow night,  be  covered  with  quick-lime,  and  con- 
sumed.^ Act  accordingly." 

The  signature  of  James   Crouch  was  boldly  written 


DANE    WALRAVEN  97 

at  the  end  of  this  astounding    and   strange    document, 
and  it  bore  the  date  of  the  day  before. 

For  many  minutes,  the  captain  sat  dumfounded. 
His  face  was  blanched,  his  eyes  dilated,  the  hand  from 
which  the  letter  had  dropped  was  spread  outward,  with 
extended  fingers, and  he  seemed  shocked  into  insensi- 
bility. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  revulsion.  His  gaze  had 
wandered  to  the  flushed  face  of  the  boy  who  lay 
sleeping  at  his  feet.  He  sprang  up,  with  a  dismal 
groan,  seized  his  hat  from  a  table,  and  snatching  the 
letter  from  the  floor,  rushed  from  the  house. 

No  one  had  witnessed  his  departure;  and  the  warm 
afternoon  crept  on  toward  sunset,  the  boy  still  slum- 
bered on  the  crimson  carpet,  the  house  was  silent. 
The  sun  set,  redly  vanishing  behind  the  western  woods, 
and  shadows  crept  into  the  house. 

Mrs.  Peddie  once  more  peered  into  the  silent  room, 
carrying  a  lamp,  which  she  placed  on  a  table. 

"Body  'o  me!  "  exclaimed  she,  observing  her  master's 
vacant  chair,  "it's  his  hour  to  su  pan'  he's  gane  frae 
the  house— but  he'll  nae  be  far,"  murmured  she,  has- 
tening to  inform  her  mistress. 

But,  far  or  near,  the  captain  came  not,  although  the 
troubled  eyes  of  his  wife  were  a  score  of  times  at  the 
street  door,  peering  through  the  murk  for  the  first 
glimpse  of  her  absent  lord. 

Nine  o'clock!  The  strokes  of  the  clock  sounded  to 
Clara  like  human  groans.  Ten — and  the  front  door 
was  opened  by  some  one  from  without. 

"Thank    heaven!"  cried  the  anxious    wife,  hurrying 


98  DANE    WALRAVEN 

down  from  her  room.  But  it  was  Ellen,  who  had  ob- 
tained leave  for  an  evening  out,  and  was  now  wearily 
climbing  the  dark  stairway  to  her  own  bedroom. 

Mrs.  Bardell  briefly  told  the  girl  of  the  prolonged 
and  unexplained  absence  of  the  captain, and  received  a 
sympathetic  reply.  Then  she  returned  to  her  chamber, 
to  pace  it  up  and  down  as  before,  and  to  grow  mo- 
mentarily more  distressed,  and  finally  to  become  se- 
riously alarmed. 

Midnight — ah,  that  was  his  footstep,  at  last! 

Clara  had  thrown  herself  upon  her  bed,  exhausted, 
a  few  moments  before  she  heard  the  door  open  again, 
and  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Peddie's  voice,  raised  to  an  un- 
usual pitch.  Flying  down  the  staircase,  she  reached 
the  foot  before  her  husband  had  started  to  ascend. 
Her  arms  were  stretched  forth  to  clasp  him — but  she 
shrank  back  from  him  with  a  cry. 

His  appearance  was  startling.  Face  haggard  and 
blanched,  eyes  holding  in  their  sunken  depths  a  stare 
of  horror/  his  whole  person  stained  with  earth,  as 
though  he  had  fallen  into  a  pit! 

"What  is  it?"  gasped  his  wife. 

"Come  upstairs,"  he  answered,  hoarsely,  "and  I  will 
tell  you." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

» 

THE  ABDUCTION  OF  DANE  WALRAVEN 

In  a  fourth  story  room  of  the  old  Marlboro  House  on 
Washington  Street,  at  the  close  of  a  rainy  May  day, 
two  men  sat  at  a  table,  conversing. 

The  night  shadows  were  gathering  thickly  about 
them, when  a  boy  entered,  bearing  two  funereal-looking 
candles,  which  he  placed  on  the  table.  The  dubious 
rays  fell  upon  the  uninviting  countenances  of  two  old 
acquaintances — Joel  Thorp,  and  the  ex-assistant  super- 
intendent of  burial-grounds. 

Joel  held  in  his  hand  a  crumpled  copy  of  the  "Pa- 
triot," from  which  he  now  began  to  read,  interlarding 
the  text  with  sundry  peculiar  expressions  of  his  own: 

"Lost!   From  his  home,  No.  — ,  Tremont  Street,  about 
seven  o'clock    last  evening,  Dane   Walraven,  the  ward 
of  Captain  Howard  Bardell. "      (Here  followed  descrip 
tion.) 

"$i,ooo  reward  will  be  paid  by  his  guardian  for  the 
return  of  the  boy  to  his  home,"  etc. 

"That's  neat,  Jemmy,"  observed  Joel,  laying  down 
the  paper,  and  lighting  a  pipe,  which  he  proceeded  to 
puff  vigorously. 

"Very,"  echoed  his  companion,  who  sat  on  the  oppo* 
site  side  of  the  table,  with  folded  hands,  his  usual  at- 
titude, half-sanctimonious,  half-deliberative. 

99 


IOO  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Do  ye  think,"  queried  Joel,  between  his  whiffs, 
"that  any  cove'll  find  the  kid,  an'  get  the  reward?" 

The  face  of  the  other  broadened  with  a  sardonic 
smile. 

"I  don't  think  anybody  will  claim  the  reward,"  re- 
plied he,  with  his  slow  emphasis  and  sneering  aspect, 
which  always  impressed  his  friend. 

"An1  we  don't  need  it,"  chuckled  Thorp,  rattling 
some  coins  in  his  trousers  pockets.  "Fifteen  hundred 
for  yureself,  an'  five  hundred  for  me.  The  job  was  a 
good  un,  an'  the  skipper  done  the  'andsome,  Jemmy. 
'E  didn't  wait  long,  eyether. " 

"I  laid  my  plans  for  everything,"  responded  the 
latter,  complacently,  "and,"  with  sudden  savageness, 
"if  he  hadn't  played  quick,  the  body'd  have  been  eaten 
up,  by—" 

"An'  ye  think  there's  no  danger  of  him  huntin'  ye 
up?" 

"Don't  you  worry.  He'll  not  hunt  me  up — he's  too 
superstitious,  believes  in'  oaths,  and  a  hereafter,  like 
the  rest  of  the  fools." 

"An'  ye've  left  the  offis?" 

"Resigned,"  answered  Crouch,  sarcastically. 

"Werry  good.  An'  now,  wot's  next,  Jemmy?"  de. 
manded  Joel,  who  appeared  to  have  tacitly  permitted 
the  other  to  lead. 

''Nothing.  In  a  short  time,  Pm  going  away,  you 
know — with  another." 

"Ho,  ho,  yes,  an'  a  wery  interestin'  party,  eh,  old 
cove?"  chuckled  Thorp,  who  seemed  immensely 
amused. 


DANE    WALKAVEN  IOI 

"Of  course.      Is  the  girl  to  be  depended  on?" 

"Same  as  me." 

"Well,  then,  let's  go  home.  If  you  hear  anything 
drop,  come  and  tell  me;  and  I'll  do  the  same  with 
you.  I'll  be  in  Chelsea." 

"Egad,  that's  the  talk.  So,  as  there's  no  more  to 
be  said  to-night,  an'  no  more  corpses  to  move,  I'll 
stump  for  home.  The  partner  of  my  buzzum  is  not 
over-patient  a-waiting,  perticklerly  w'en  she  expects 
noos. " 

"Where'd  you  pick  her  up?"  inquired  Crouch,  con- 
temptuously. 

'  On  the  wharves.  She  'peared  to  be  a  proper  wicious 
person,  an'  I  rayther  softened  on  her." 

"I  don't  go  much  on  women,"  observed  the  other, 
with  his  proverbial  sniff. 

"But  Missus  Thorp,  the  present,  ain't  a  hordinary 
woman,"  argued  Joel,  spreading  his  crooked  fingers  on 
the  table.  "Missus  Thorp  'as  conwictions,  Jemmy." 

"So  has  everybody,"  sneered  his  friend. 

"No,  Jemmy,  no,  sir,"  remonstrated  Joel,  warming, 
"they  has  i-dees;  them's  common.  But  Missus  T.  has 
somethink  more  walu'ble  nor  i-dees,  she  has  conwic- 
tions; an'  I'll  foller  her  conwictions  against  all  the 
i-dees  in  the  wur-ruld. " 

"Women  ain't  safe  to  depend  on,  nohow,"  objected 
Crouch,  rising  to  go;  "'twas  a  woman  made  the  first 
rumpus  in  the  world,  and  it's  a  woman  will  make  the 
last — if  she  has  a  mate." 

"Well,  I  stan's  by  'em,"  growled    Joel,  obstinately. 

This  was  the  one  human  trait,  perhaps,  which  gave 
him  a  claim  to  human  fellowship. 


102  DANE    WALRAVEN 

No  response  was  given  to  this,  except  a  sniff  and 
swallow,  and  Joel  shuffled  out  of  the  room. 

"I'm  goin'  'ome,  Jemmy,"  said  he,  "good  night." 

But  instead  of  going  home,  Joel  went  straight  to  the 
Bardell  home,  where  he  was  admitted  by  the  old  house- 
keeper. 

She  recognized  him  at  once. 

"I  dinna  ken  what  ye're  at,  noo,"  she  exclaimed, 
lapsing  into  her  native  provincialism. 

"Oh,  ye  recollect  me,"  growled  he,  pushing  his  way 
into  the  hall. 

"Ay,  you  came  here  a  week  ago,  and  Mr.  Bardell 
would  not  see  you. " 

"Well,  he'll  see  me  now.  Tell  him  I've  summat  to 
tell  him  about  the  boy's  wanishin.'" 

The  eyes  of  the  housekeeper  sparkled  in  their  deep 
sockets. 

"About  the  chiel?  Ah,  he'll  see  the  de'il  himsel' 
for  that!" 

Catching  the  messenger  by  the  hand,  she  dragged 
him  into  the  parlor. 

The  captain  was  walking  the  floor;  his  face  pale  and 
careworn,  his  eyes  bloodshot  from  sleeplessness  and 
grief.  He  turned  upon  the  visitor  abruptly. 

"What  have  you  to  tell  me?"  he  demanded,  almost 
savagely. 

Joel  advanced,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"It  ain't  much,"  he  replied,  sullenly,  "but  it's  a 
finger-mark.  At  seven  of  the  clock  last  night,  the  lad 
was  walkin'  on  Tremont  Street  with  yure  missus — " 

"What!" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  103 

The  captain  sprang  toward  him  with  an  energy  that 
caused  Joel  to  leap  backward. 

"I'm  a-tellin'  ye  for  yer  own  good,"  he  grumbled, 
"an'  there  ain't  no  call  to  jump  at  me." 

"But — what  do  you  mean?"  stammered  the  captain, 
staring  angrily  at  his  informant. 

"I've  said  wot  I  mean;  an'  the  captain  of  the  watch 
will  tell  ye  I  ain't  lyin'." 

The  captain  strode  to  the  door  and  called: 

"Clara,  come  down  for  a  moment." 

The  beautiful  woman  who  had  been  a  bride  for  but 
the  length  of  a  honeymoon,  came  tripping  down  the 
stairs,  and  swept  into  the  presence  of  the  wretch  who 
had  come  there  to  wreck  her  happiness. 

She  glanced  at  the  face  of  her  husband;  and  when 
she  saw  the  cloud  that  rested  there  like  an  unspoken 
threat,  and  the  stern  question  that — not  his  compressed 
lips,  but  his  impatient  eyes — asked  as  they  were  bent 
upon  her,  she  stopped,  and  the  color  left  her  cheeks. 

"Repeat  what  you  have  just  told  me, "  he  commanded, 
turning  toward  Thorp. 

With  a  dogged  manner,  and  with  eyes  downcast, 
the  man  obeyed. 

Clara  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Who  is  this  man?"  she  demanded,  turning  to  her 
husband. 

"The  man  is  of  no  consequence,"  returned  he,  impa- 
tiently. "You  have  heard  what  he  said!" 

Clara's  eyes  flashed  indignantly. 

"Did  you  see  me  with  Dane,  in  Tremont  Street?" 
she  asked,  with  a  scornful  expression  in  her  fair  face. 


104  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Yes,  ma'am,  in  front  of  the  big  entrance  to  the 
common,"  answered  he,  looking  up  at  her  furtively, 
with  his  ogreish  eye. 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  ma'am."  The  tone  was  now  malicious.  He 
was  tasting  of  revenge;  and  to  such  souls  as  his,  the 
morsel  was  sweet.  "An*  the  captain  of  the  watch, 
he  saw  you,  too!" 

"Howard!" 

The  eyes  of  the  young  wife  were  turned  full  upon 
her  husband  with  a  wild,  questioning  look,  as  she 
crept  slowly  toward  him.  There  was  something  in 
their  expression  now  that  would  have  startled  him,  had 
he  looked. 

But  he  did  not  see  her;  he  was  looking  beyond  her 
blanched  face  at  another  that  peered  in  through  the 
half-open  door,  the  dark  and  handsome  face  of  Ellen 
Peters. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  A   SUSPECTED  WIFE 

Clara  had  become  so  attached  to  Ellen  Peters,  pre- 
vious to  her  marriage,  that  she  had  given  the  girl  a 
home  with  her.  The  station  assigned  to  her  was  less 
that  of  a  servant  than  a  lady's  companion;  and  the  in- 
genuous disposition  of  the  young  bride  gave  Ellen  an 
opportunity  at  all  times  to  know  whatever  she  chose 
of  her  mistress  and  her  movements.  Apparently  de- 
voted to  her  service,  the  girl  had  gained  her  confidence 
absolutely,  as  well  as  the  captain's.  Both  regarded  her 
as  a  paragon  of  truthfulness. 

On  the  evening  of  Dane's  disappearance,  Mrs.  Bar- 
dell  had  eaten  a  very  light  supper,  leaving  her  hus- 
band at  the  table.  She  had  been  within  doors  all  day, 
she  said,  and  felt  the  need  of  a  little  outdoor  exercise. 

"Will  you  have  a  drive?"  inquired  her  husband,  at 
all  times  willing  to  forego  his  own  convenience  for 
her  benefit. 

"No,  I  will  walk  a  few  blocks." 

"Then  let  me  go  with  you,"  he  urged. 

"No,  you  told  me  you  wished  to  go  to  the  store  to- 
night, to  look  over  your  books,"  was  her  answer,  and 
he  had  gone  down  to  the  wharf,  leaving  her  as  she 
ascended  the  stairs  with  Dane. 

When  Mr.  Bardell  returned  late  that  night,  he  went 

105 


IO6  DANE    WALRAVEN 

directly  to  bed,  as  no  one  was  then  astir  in  the  house. 
The  next  morning,  when  he  sat  down  to  his  break- 
fast, a  few  moments  before  his  wife  came  down,  he 
asked  Ellen,  who  gave  him  his  coffee,  why  Dane  was 
not  in  his  seat. 

"He  is  usually  the  first  at  the  table,"  he    remarked. 

"Oh,"  replied  the  girl,  carelessly,  "I  suppose  the 
poor  little  fellow  was  so  tired  when  he  went  to  bed, 
that  he  is  sleeping  it  off." 

"How  is  that?"  inquired  his  guardian,  somewhat 
puzzled. 

"Why,  I  went  on  an  errand  for  myself,  last  evening, 
about  seven  o'clock,  and  as  I  passed  along  Beacon 
Street  mall,  I  saw  Mrs.  Bardell  and  Dane  walking 
quite  fast  in  the  Common,  and  going  toward  Park 
Street.  She  had  hold  of  his  hand;  and  he  appeared 
to  drag  along  as  though  he  was  tired." 

Ellen  left  the  breakfast-room;  and  at  that  moment 
Mrs.  Bardell  entered. 

"Where  is  Dane?"  she  asked. 

"Still  asleep,"  replied  her  husband,  over  his  morn- 
ing paper. 

"That's  odd.      He  is  generally  the  first." 

"You  walked  him  too  far,  I  am  afraid." 

But  Mrs.  Bardell  raised  her  eyes  in  surprise. 

"Where  did  I  walk  him  to?"  she  asked. 

Mr.  Bardell  repeated  the  information  Ellen  had  just 
given  him.  But  Clara  looked  bewildered. 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  she,  "I  left  him  in  my 
room,  when  I  went  out;  and  when  I  returned  he  had 
gone  to  bed." 


DANE    WALRAVEN  1OJ 

Ellen  was  now  recalled,  and  further  questioned.  She 
stared  at  Mrs.  Bardeil  in  apparent  amazement. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Bardeil,"  cried  she,  with  a  shudder, 
"could  it  have  been  your  ghost?  That's  a  sure  sign  of 
death!" 

"Nonsense,"  returned  her  mistress,  impatiently. 

"How  far  was  the  'ghost'  from  you,  Ellen?"  queried 
the  captain,  amused  at  his  wife's  annoyed  look. 

"Oh,  she  was  just  passing  the  Pond." 

"And  you  were — where?" 

"At  Beacon  and  Charles." 

"Ah,  too  far  oft,  and  too  many  trees  between  you  and 
the  ghost,  to  identify  it,"  was  his  playful  summing 
up.  "Well,  call  Dane,  and  let  him  give  his  account 
of  it." 

Ellen  disappeared,  but  in  a  few  moments  came 
bounding  into  the  breakfast-room,  with  a  scared  face. 

"He  is  not  there!  "  she  articulated,  hysterically,  and 
sinking  into  a  chair. 

Simultaneously,  husband  and  wife  hurried  up  to 
Dane's  little  bedroom,  and  entered  it.  But  they  stopped 
at  the  threshold.  There  was  no  occupant  of  the 
dainty  bed.  Its  blue  silk  coverlet  and  lace  pillow 
shams  were  unrumpled,  the  arrangement  of  the  cham- 
ber undisturbed.  It  seemed  to  the  captain,  as  he  stood 
there  vacantly  staring  into  it,  as  though  his  boy  had 
been  borne  out  of  it  dead,  so  dreary  and  desolate  it 
looked  without  its  smiling  owner. 

"My  God,  he  is  lost!"  gasped  he,  tottering  to  a 
chair. 

Within  an  hour,  police  and   detectives  were  in  mo- 


IO8  DANE    WALRAVEN 

tion  in  every  part  of  the  city,  and  out  into  the  suburbs. 
The  captain  himself,  driving  hither  and  thither  through 
the  town,  in  his  despair  and  grief,  had  spread  the 
wretched  news  in  every  direction,  and  the  story, 
meager  as  it  was,  had  flown  through  highway  and  by- 
way. Sympathetic  crowds  gathered  about  the  crier,  as 
with  bell  mournfully  tolling,  he  went  from  corner  to 
corner,  repeating  his  doleful  cry: 

"Boy  lost — " 

But  the  day  sped  on,  the  night  came  lowering  over 
the  city,  its  intolerable  blackness  falling  like  a  pall 
upon  the  soul  of  the  haggard  hunter  who  prowled  the 
streets  until  morning,  in  the  fruitless  search  for  his 
darling. 

Another  day,  and  no  tidings.  Another  night  was 
far  advanced;  and  woe  still  sat  at  the  hearth  of  Howard 
Bardell.  He  had  just  come  in  from  another  long  and 
exhausting  drive  through  the  north  end  of  the  city, 
when  Joel  Thorp  was  announced. 

The  statement  Joel  made  to  the  captain  came  upon 
him  like  a  thunderbolt.  Instantly  his  mind  reverted 
to  the  careless  story  told  him  the  previous  morning  by 
Ellen  Peters,  before  Dane's  disappearance  was  known 
in  the  house.  And  now,  as  the  sad  face  of  the  girl 
loomed  in  the  doorway,  he  felt  a  horrible  doubt  creep- 
ing into  his  heart  and  chilling  it  as  if  a  hand  of  ice 
had  gripped  it. 

Maddened  by  this  terrible  suspicion,  strengthened 
by  the  recollection  of  vague  expressions  of  Ellen's 
about  his  wife's  jealousy  of  his  absorbing  love  for  the 
boy,  and  by  Clara's  cheerfulness  since  Dane  was  lost, 


DANE    WALRAVEN 

(a  cheerfulness  which  he  had  thought  she  was  assum- 
ing in  order  to  inspire  him  with  hope,)  he  trembled  in 
his  knees,  he  shook  as  if  in  the  midst  of  a  whirlwind. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  whirlwind  in  the  soul  of  this 
strong  man,  and  it  was  rending  him. 

Every  human  mind  is  encompassed  by  doubts,  and 
is  perpetually  speculating  on  the  "maybe."  Belief  in 
the  honesty  and  in  the  sincerity  and  affection  of  those 
who  are  dear  to  us  is  largely  induced  by  the  wish; 
but  belief  is  a  sentiment,  and  is  easily  shaken,  how- 
ever tenaciously  the  heart  clings  to  it.  And  now,  cir- 
cumstance on  circumstance  was  assailing  Howard  Bar- 
dell's  belief  in  his  wife,  the  being  whom  he  had  held 
next  in  reverence  to  his  God.  He  doubted;  and  such 
doubt  was  to  hi-m  a  horror. 

He  beckoned  to  Ellen,  and  she  slowly  entered. 

"Go  to  the  city  hall,"  said  he  hoarsely,  "and  ask 
the  captain  of  the  watch  to  come  here  in  haste.  Bring 
him  with  you." 

Ellen  made  no  reply,  but,  intently  watching  his 
pallid  face  for  a  moment,  swiftly  went  forth  upon  her 
dubious  mission. 

The  captain  tottered,  rather  than  walked,  to  a  chair, 
and  sank  upon  it,  without  turning  his  eyes  toward  his 
wife,  or  knowing  that  she  stood  there  erect  and  rigid, 
her  dilated  eyes  following  him  with  looks  of  terror. 

Joel  had  slunk  into  a  corner  of  the  parlor,  near  the 
window,  where  he  peered  out  into  the  street. 

The  minutes  crept  on;  the  ticking  of  a  clock  in  the 
hall  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the  awful  stillness. 
And  neither  of  the  three  who  waited  for  the  coming 


IIO  DANE    WALRAVEN 

of  the  last  witness  of  a  desolated  home  stirred  or 
seemed  to  breathe. 

At  last— after  an  eternity  of  waiting,  an  eternity  of 
thought  in  a  half-hour  of  time,  there  was  an  end.  The 
captain  of  the  watch  strode  into  the  room,  and  behind 
him  glided  Ellen. 

In  a  voice  preternaturally  calm,  but  totally  unrecog- 
nizable, the  stricken  man  asked  a  single  question;  and 
his  heart  stood  still  while  he  waited  for  the  answer. 

With  a  glance  of  wonder  at  the  singular  group,  the 
officer  gave  it: 

"I  saw  Mrs.  Bardell  walking  rapidly  in  the  Common, 
skirting  the  Pond,  and  holding  Dane  by  the  hand.  It 
was  a  few  minutes  after  seven  on  the  evening  he  dis- 
appeared.1 

Then  a  haggard  face  was  lifted,  a  man  rose  slowly 
out  of  a  chair,  his  tall  form  towered  and  swayed,  his 
right  arm  was  lifted  as  if  to  invoke  the  vengeance  of 
Deity,  his  pale,  drawn  lips  opened  as  if  to  utter  a 
curse. 

But  the  awful  wail  of  a  stricken  woman  rent  the 
sullen  and  horrible  silence,  and  froze  the  arm  and  the 
lips;  the  air  stirred  and  parted  before  the  rushing  form 
that  sped  into  the  hall,  out  into  the  night,  and  was 
swallowed  in  an  abyss  of  darkness. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

ON    THE    TRACK    OF  THE     KIDNAPERS 

The  pastor  of  the  First  Church  was  a  methodical 
man.  At  precisely  ten  o'clock  each  night  he  retired  to 
his  chamber,  read  one  or  two  favorite  passages  in  his 
annotated  Bible,  and  thus  composed  himself  to  enter 
those  peaceful  somnolic  regions  wherein  it  was  his 
wont  to  remain  for  eight  hours. 

When,  therefore,  at  eleven  o'clock  on  the  night  of 
Clara  Bardell's  flight  from  her  home,  a  spasmodic 
thundering  at  the  front  door  knocker  accompanied  the 
strokes  of  the  city  bell,  the  sounds  invaded  the  minis- 
terial dreams,  and  wakened  him  with  start. 

Springing  from  his  bed,  he  hastily  drew  on  his 
velvet  slippers  and  flowered  dressing-gown,  and  hur- 
ried down,  candle  in  hand,  to  the  hall-door. 

The  old  housekeeper  of  the  Bardells  stood  on  the 
steps  without,  trembling  with  excitement,  and  her  gray 
head  muffled  in  a  plaid  shawl. 

"Oh,  sir, "  cried  she,  in  agitated  tones,  as  the  aston- 
ished minister  peered  into  her  pale  face,  "ye  maun  just 
come  to  Mr.  Bardell,  sir,  at  once!  He's  lying  on  the 
bed  bemoaning,  and  wanting  the  dominie  every  minute. 
Ye' 11  come,  sir?" 

"Certainly, "  replied  Mr.  Frothingham,  with  a  troub- 
led look,  "but  it  appears  rather  strange  that  he  should 

111 


112  DANE    WALRAVEN 

have  given  way  to  his  grief  in  that  way,  so  long  after 
the  knowledge  of  his  misfortune  came  to  him." 

"Oh,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Peddie,  forgetting  in  her 
distress  and  excitement  that  she  had  not  informed  him 
of  the  scene  of  an  hour  before,  "it's  belike  madness, 
now,  it's  not  grief  at  all,  it's  worse — but  I  maun  go 
back  to  him;  lord-a-mercy — " 

And  the  poor  body  hurried  off,  moaning  to  herself, 
through  the  fog  which  somewhere  hid  the  fleeing  wife, 
while  the  minister  returned  to  his  chamber.  In  twenty 
minutes  he  was  out  in  the  street  also,  and  made  his 
way  rapidly  to  the  captain's  residence.  There  he 
listened  with  amazement  and  sorrow  to  the  terrible 
story  poured  into  his  ear  by  the  bereaved  husband, 
whose  strong  frame  shook  with  the  painful  energy  of 
an  agony  he  could  not  suppress. 

When  all  was  told,  and  the  benevolent  heart  of  the 
listener  had  voiced  its  sorrow  over  this  new  calamity, 
he  remained  silent  for  awhile,  gravely  musing. 

The  captain  watched  his  face  with  painful  intense- 
ness,  and  at  length  asked  in  a  hopeless  voice: 

"What  now,  since  both  are  gone,  is  there  for  me? 
Nothing — nothing!" 

And  as  the  minister  looked  at  him  compassionately, 
he  cried: 

"Tell  me  what  I  am  to  do — what  can  I  do?" 

"Find  her — first  of  all!" 

The  tone  and  look  of  the  minister  were  stern,  as  he 
gave  this  brief  counsel,  which  made  it  at  once  a  rebuke 
and  a  command. 

The  haggard  and  pale  cheeks  of  the  captain  flushed. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  113 

"The  captain  of  the  watch  left  here  as  soon  as  Clara 
disappeared  from  the  door,"  he  explained,  "to  follow 
her,  and  to  send  out  patrols.  I  went  with  him,  he 
going  in  one  direction  and  I  in  another.  She  must 
have  flown  like  the  wind,  for  neither  of  us  saw  any 
trace  of  or  heard  any  sound  from  her." 

"And  what  became  of  the  man— Thorp?" 

"Ah!"  The  captain  had  forgotten  Joel,  had  not 
given  him  a  thought  after  the  arrival  of  the  officer. 
"He  must  have  stolen  away  from  the  house,"  mused 
he. 

"And  the  girl,  Ellen  Peters?" 

"She  was  fearfully  prostrated  by  the  flight  of  her 
mistress;  and  she  has  gone  in  search  of  her  also,  de- 
claring that  she  will  never  return  here  without  her." 

"It  is  a  peculiar  business,"  muttered  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham,  his  brows  contracting.  "But,  let  me  advise  you 
once  for  all,  to  drive  out  of  your  mind  the  cruel,  and 
I  believe  unjust,  suspicions  you  entertain  toward  your 
wife.  She  had  no  part  in  the  abduction  of  the  boy. 
It  was  an  abduction,  of  course.  The  wretches  who 
perpetrated  the  crime  must  be  found  and  brought  to 
punishment.  In  the  meantime,  you  must  keep  such 
control  over  yourself  as  as  will  enable  you  to  direct, 
or  at  least  to  assist,  in  the  search  for  both  wife  and 
the  boy.  I  will  come  in  to-morrow  morning,  and  hope 
there  will  be  good  news." 

But  the  morning  brought  no  good  news — nor  news 
of  any  kind,  except  that  Ellen  Peters  had  not  returned, 
and  nothing  had  been  Jieard  of  her.  The  police  and 
detectives  had  found  no  trail;  they  had  suspected 


114  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Crouch,  and  had  tried  to  find  him,  but  he  had  disap- 
peared absolutely. 

Within  a  week  thereafter,  the  captain  was  lying  un- 
conscious in  his  chamber,  stricken  with  brain  fever, 
the  usual  and  natural  result  of  such  an  overwhelming 
experience  as  his.  For  nearly  a  month  death  sat  at 
his  bedside;  and  when  he  at  length  crept  downstairs 
from  his  chamber,  trembling,  and  bowed,  and  gaunt, 
his  hair  was  white;  a  pale  and  touching  emblem  of  the 
woe  that  had  crowned  his  three  brief  months  of  marital 
joy. 

One  evening  while  he  sat  in  his  library,  listlessly 
watching  the  scenes  on  the  street,  Mrs.  Peddie  an- 
nounced a  visitor. 

"Ask  him  in  here,"  directed  the  captain;  and  the 
next  moment  he  was  shaking  hands  with  the  new 
mayor  of  the  city,  Mr.  Wells,  who  had  been  for  some 
time  a  personal  friend,  and  an  occasional  caller. 

"I  have  come  to  have  a  little  conversation  with  you, 
captain,"  said  the  mayor,  cheerfully,  "concerning  your 
trouble. " 

"You  are  very  kind,"  returned  the  host,  almost 
apathetically. 

"Oh,  you  will  not  feel  so  indifferent,  I  think,  when 
I  have  told  you  that  I  believe  the  city  marshal  has  a 
clew  to  the  boy's  abduction,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wells, 
smilingly. 

The  captain  became  animated  at  once,  his  wan  face 
lit  up,  and  a  tinge  of  color  came  into  it  as  he  asked 
with  feverish  eagerness: 

"What  is  it?     What  can  you  tell  me?" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  115 

"Let  us  .be  professional,"  began  the  mayor,  in  a 
brisk  manner,  "and  let  me  ask  you  a  few  questions 
as  a  preliminary.  You  have  two  dangerous  enemies  in 
this  city,  have  you  not?" 

"Enemies?"  The  captain  reflected;  but  suddenly 
remembered.  "Ah,  yes,  I  believe  I  understand  you. 
There  are  two  persons  whom  I  may  consider  enemies, 
I  suppose,  although  without  the  slightest  justification 
on  their  part." 

"And  their  names?" 

The  captain  gave  the  names  of  Thorp  and  Crouch, 
entering  into  a  brief  explanation  of  circumstances  we 
already  know. 

"Precisely,"  was  Mr.  Wells'  comment. 

"Well,  I  believe  there  is  no  doubt  that  these  two 
rascals  were  the  abductors  of  Dane  Walraven. " 

The  captain  again  reflected.  "I  did  suspect  Crouch," 
observed  he,  "and  we  endeavored  to  find  him,  but 
failed;  in  fact,  he  has  certainly  left  the  city,  which  in 
itself  is  confirmatory  evidence,  in  my  opinion,  that 
mv  suspicions  were  justified.  But  Thorp  has  never 
shown  any  disposition  to  annoy  or  injure  me;  in  fact, 
he  came  here  to  give  me — information — " 

The  captain's  voice  faltered  here  as  the  whole  ter- 
rible scene  in  which  Joel  Thorp  had  figured  rushed 
upon  his  recollection. 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  something  of  his  officious  friend- 
liness,"  remarked  Mr.  Wells,  dryly.  "And  now,  know- 
ing from  you  and  others  something  of  his  history,  and 
the  story  of  his  coming  here  to  make  an  indirect  accu- 
sation against  your  wife,  I  am  convinced  that  he  is  the 
man  we  want." 


Il6  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"But  his  place  was  visited,  and  a  watch  was  set 
upon  his  house,  and  all  to  no  purpose.  I  never  thought 
anything  would  come  of  that,  and  nothing  has. " 

"But  something  will,"  exclaimed  the  mayor,  with 
sudden  emphasis.  "Now,  I  will  tell  you  why  I  think 
so: 

"The  city  marshal  some  months  ago  adopted  a  boy, 
whose  name  is  Charles  Vincent.  This  boy  was  em- 
ployed by  the  baker  who  was  burned  to  death,  as  was 
also  his  entire  family,  and  his  house  consumed,  at 
the  corner  of  Broad  and  Hamilton.  Here  is  the  notice 
of  the  fire." 

The  mayor  drew  from  his  pocket  an  old  copy  of  the 
Boston  "Atlas,"  and  read  from  it  a  paragraph  reciting 
what  has  been  previously  stated,  with  a  surmise  that 
the  fire  was  the  work  of  an  incendiary. 

"Now,"  continued  the  mayor,  "this  boy  was  virtually 
kidnaped  by  Crouch,  on  the  morning  of  the  fatality  to 
Murray  the  baker,  and  was  virtually  kept  a  prisoner 
in  Thorp's  house,  until  he  ran  away  to  the  Boys' 
Asylum,  which  is  a  short  distance  from  Thorp's  place. 
He  has  just  told  the  marshal  a  long  story  concerning 
his  life  at  Murray's  and  at  Thorp's;  and  the  marshal 
states  that  the  story  lets  in  a  startlingly  clear  light 
upon  some  of  Thorp's  transactions,  and  explains — 
gives  a  terrible  meaning — to  some  of  his  utterances 
when  quarreling  with  Murray  on  the  night  before  the 
fire.  One  of  the  patrolmen  overheard  this  quarrel, 
but  he  did  not  see  or  know  Thorp's  face,  and  paid 
little  attention  to  the  wrangle,  only  gossiping  about 
it  at  the  station,  on  hearing  of  the  fire  at  Murray's. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  II J 

There  are  some  other  incriminating  circumstances, 
which  it  is  not  worth  while  repeating  at  this  time,  but 
which  can  be  used  against  Thorp  if  we  proceed  as  I 
am  going  to  suggest  we  do.  My  suggestion  is,  that 
we  arrest  Thorp  to-morrow  morning,  on  a  charge  of 
larceny:  nominal  charge,  yet  a  just  one,  since  he  in 
fact  stole  the  clothing  of  the  boy  Vincent.  The 
marshal  is  then  to  take  the  boy  with  him  to  the  jail, 
and  confront  the  prisoner,  surprise  him  with  certain 
statements  the  officer  is  prepared  to  make,  and  give 
him  the  option  of  showing  where  Dane  is  secreted,  or 
standing  a  trial  for  arson.  You  are  to  supply  the  funds 
that  may  be  found  necessary  to  enable  Thorp  to  leave 
the  country,  and  the  town  will  be  relieved  of  the  pres- 
ence of  a  bad  citizen." 

"But  would  we  not  be  morally,  at  least,  compound- 
ing a  felony?"  asked  the  captain. 

"No;  the  evidence  is  circumstantial,  and  slight  in 
law,  and  a  conviction  of  the  crime  of  arson  is  a  very 
remote  possibility.  What  do  you  say,  now?" 

"Let  us  do  as  you  propose,  and  may  God  speed  us!  " 

The  lethargic  condition  in  which  the  long  illness, 
as  well  as  the  hopelessness,  of  Captain  Bardell  had 
left  him,  had  rapidly  changed  during  this  interview 
to  one  of  feverish  excitement;  and  his  friend  remained 
with  him  some  minutes  longer,  in  a  kind  endeavor  to 
calm  him. 

After  the  mayor's  departure,  he  went  back  to  his 
chamber,  sat  down  at  a  table,  and  resting  his  head 
upon  his  hands,  strove  to  think;  but  a  thousand 
wheels  seemed  whirling  within  his  brain,  and  the  very 


Il8  DANE    WALRAVEN 

awakening  of  hope  made  him  tremble.  From  time  to 
time  a  sigh  escaped  him,  then  a  few  muttered  words; 
and  in  this  attitude  the  gray  morning  found  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

JOEL  THORP  IS  BROUGHT  TO  BAY 

The  Boston  jail,  in  Leverett  Street,  was  a  gloomy 
stone  building  with  cannon-balls  embedded  in  the 
blocks  of  stone,  mortising  them  together,  and  rendering 
the  walls  practically  impenetrable.  Culprits  shuddered 
when  they  approached  its  forbidding  front,  and  once 
inside,  they  were  willing  to  do  heavy  penance,  to  give 
almost  any  earnest  of  amendment,  to  shorten  the  term 
of  their  incarceration.  They  were  not  fed  sumptuously, 
nor  treated  tenderly,  nor  indulged  in  the  manner  that 
in  these  days  of  ultra-humanitarianism  is  much  in 
vogue.  Crime  was  dealt  with  in  a  stern  way,  without 
making  excuses  to  the  criminal  for  his  arrest  and  pun- 
ishment, as  is  too  often  the  case  now,  nor  was  the 
name  of  "crank"  given  to  every  human  wolf  who  com- 
mitted an  extraordinary  crime. 

Three  days  after  the  visit  of  the  mayor  to  Howard 
Bardell,  the  marshal,  accompanied  by  Charlie,  called 
at  the  jail  and  asked  for  the  jailer,  Mr.  Badlam.  This 
personage,  a  benevolent-faced  man,  as  much  liked  by 
the  "tame"  prisoners  as  he  was  disliked  by  the  incor- 
rigibles,  made  his  appearance,  and  begged  his  visitors 
to  be  seated. 

The  marshal,  however,  briefly  mentioned  his  desire 

119 


J2O  DANE    WALRAVEN 

to  see  a  prisoner  who  had  been  brought  in  two  days 
before. 

"But  there  were  two,"  was  the  smiling  reply. 

"No  matter,"  observed  the  marshal,  "the  one  I  want 
to  see  is  named  Thorp." 

"Well,  marshal,"  returned  the  jailor,  still  smiling, 
"there  were  two  Thorps  run  in,  and  they  are  both  or 
either  at  your  service,  though  /  shouldn't  fancy  either 
of  them." 

The  marshal  looked  surprised,  and  somewhat  an- 
noyed. 

"I  don't  know  but  one  Thorp,"  said  he,  "and  he  is 
a  pawnbroker  on  Charter  Street." 

"Ah,  then  you  wish  to  see  the  husband?" 

"Who  is  the  other?" 

"The  other  is  the  wife,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
her,"  answered  Mr.  Badlam,  significantly. 

"Upon  what  charge  was  she  taken?"  inquired  the 
marshal,  uneasily. 

"She  resisted  the  arrest  of  her  husband,  and  changed 
the  countenance  of  the  constable  so  completely  that  we 
didn't  recognize  him;  so  he  brought  her  along,  and 
has  preferred  a  charge  against  her." 

The  marshal  appeared  relieved.  After  a  moment's 
silence,  he  said: 

"I  will  see  both  of  them;  the  woman  first." 

Mr.  Badlam  shrugged  his  shoulders  significantly,  as 
he  rose  to  show  the  way  to  the  female  quarters.  "I 
suppose  you've  met  with  what  they  call  'Tartars,'  in 
your  business?"  said  he. 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  the  marshal,  with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  you're  going  to  call  on  one  now." 


DANE    WALRAVEN  121 

The  marshal  did  not  appear  to  be  much  disturbed 
by  this  unpromising  outlook,  but  followed  the  jailer 
compossdly,  leaving  the  boy  to  wait  his  return. 

Mrs.  Thorp  was  in  a  solitary  cell  on  the  lower  floor ; 
her  pugnacious  disposition  having  re-asserted  itself  the 
moment  she  was  placed  among  the  other  women,  ne- 
cessitating her  immediate  removal  to  "a  room  by  her 
self,"  which  she  had  from  the  first  demanded,  "be- 
cause she  'ad  an  'ome  of  her  hown,  an'  lived  private." 

As  the  jailer  approached  with  the  marshal,  she 
turned  savagely  toward  them,  and  was  about  to  indulge 
in  some  choice  expletives,  'apparently,  when  she  sud- 
denly shrank  back  into  a  corner  of  the  cell,  and  ab- 
ruptly turned  her  back  upon  her  visitors. 

The  marshal  also,  with  a  suppressed  exclamation 
of  surprise,  had  stopped  suddenly. 

"You  are  acquainted,  eh?"  remarked  Mr.  Badlam, 
amused  at  the  woman's  change  of  front. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  crisp  accent,  "and 
if  you  will  kindly  leave  us  now,  I'll  renew  the  acquaint- 
ance." 

The  jailer  nodded,  and  at  once  withdrew. 

The  marshal  then  tapped  lightly  on  the  door  of  the 
cell,  and  called  out,  in  a  confident  tone: 

"So  you  are  here,  Mrs.   Ann — Mock!" 

The  woman  turned  toward  him  instantly. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  demanded  she,  defi- 
antly. 

'"Why,  you  see,  I  am  interested  in  you.  I  want  to 
know,  for  instance,  why  you  call  yourself  'Mrs. 
Thorp,'  when  that  isn't  your  name?" 


122  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Mrs.  Thorp  made  no  answer,  contenting  herself  with 
a  stony  stare  out  of  her  greenish  eyes. 

"Perhaps  you  know  that  your  other  husband  is  in 
\Veymouth?"  suggested  the  marshal,  ironically. 

Still  no  answer,  but  a  flash  of  defiance. 

"And  that  you  committed  bigamy  in  marrying  that 
precious  pawnbroker?" 

This  shot  had  its  effect.  Mrs.  Thorp  came  slowly 
forward,  without  removing  her  eyes  from  the  placid 
countenance  of  the  officer. 

"And  it  was  you,  was  it,  that  had  me  nabbed — for 
bigamy?"  she  asked,  with  3n  angry  shudder. 

"No.  You  know  why  you  were  nabbed.  But  you 
also  know,  I  think,  that  if  I  should  choose  to  do  so, 
I  could  send  you  across  to  Charlestown  prison." 

"An'  I  s'pose  ye  would  do  it,  eh?" 

"Not  if  you  show  a  disposition  to  mend  things." 

"Take  care  o'  yer  own,  morals,  will  ye!"  snarled 
Mrs.  Thorp,  "an'  don't  preach  to  me,  it's  no  use." 

"Oh,"  retorted  the  imperturbable  officer,  "I'm  not 
going  to  try  to  reform  your  morals  by  preaching  to 
you.  I'm  going  to  influence  you  in  a  very  different 
way. " 

"How'll  ye  do  it?" 

"By  making  you  a  proposition." 

"Oh,  ho!  Then  let's  hear  it,  an'  no  more  rat-hunt- 
ing. I  don't  like  much  palaver,  I  don't." 

"Very  well.  Now,  stand  close  to  the  bars,  here, 
and  listen  to  everything  I  say  to  you.  Maybe  you'll 
have  occasion  to  remember  it  afterwards,  I  will  be 
obliged  to  whisper,  since  your  two  companions  there 
appear  to  be  such  good  listeners." 


DANE    WALRAVEN  123 

"Oh,  you  don't  want  them  to  hear,  hey?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Thorp,  with  sudden  animation.  Then,  with  an 
unlooked-for  spring  toward  the  dividing  bars,  she  thrust 
her  sinewy  hand  through  them, 'and  caught  a  vixenish- 
looking  woman  by  the  throat;  one  of  the  two  who  had 
pressed  close  to  their  side  of  the  cage  in  order  to  hear 
what  the  "row"  was. 

"Ye  hussy!"  screamed  her  assailant,  choking  her 
savagely,  despite  her  struggles,  "ef  ye  don't  get  back 
to  yer  corner  an'  stay  there,  I'll  send  ye  where  they 
all  talks  at  oncet,  and  nobody  listens!  An*  you — avast 
there,"  she  shouted,  releasing  her  prey  witli  a  push 
that  sent  her  into  a  heap  backward,  and  making  a 
fierce  movement  at  the  other  woman,  who  had  already 
retreated.  "Now,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  marshal, 
who  had  looked  on  with  perfect  equanimity,  "spin  yer 
yarn,  an'  be  lively." 

The  marshal  promptly  began  his  yarn,  speaking  in 
whispers,  to  which  the  woman  listened  intently,  re- 
sponding from  time  to  time  with  nods,  curses,  ejacula- 
tions, and  long,  mumbled  sentences,  which  evidently 
pleased  the  officer.  When  the  conversation  was.  fin- 
ished, she  said  aloud: 

"We're  pardners.     I'll  do  it!" 


CHAPTER   XXI 

DANE  WALRAVEN    RESTORED 

When  the  marshal  returned  to  the  jailer's  parlor,  he 
requested  that  functionary  to  escort  him  to  Joel's 
"headquarters." 

Mr.  Badlam  accordingly  led  the  way  into  the  interior 
of  the  jail,  where,  in  a  large  and  bare  room,  some 
twenty  men  were  busily  picking  oakum,  an  occupation 
at  which  the  prisoners  worked  on  inclement  days,  in- 
stead of  breaking  stone  on  the  streets. 

The  jailer  stopped  there 

"Joel  Thorp,  come  here." 

This  summons  caused  every  one  to  lift  his  head  and 
stare  at  the  jailer  inquisitively;  but,  as  speech  was 
forbidden,  they  indulged  in  pantomime  and  grimace, 
as  Joel  lurched  forward,  his  eye  fixed  with  a  sidelong 
glance  at  the  marshal,  whom  he  appeared  to  regard 
with  some  uneasiness. 

"Here  is  your  man,  marshal,"  said  the  jailer,  as  he 
turned  to  go,  "you  can  take  him  into  the  corrjdor,  if 
you  like." 

"That  is  better,  I  think.  Send  the  person  whom  I 
left  in  your  room  in  the  corridor,  to  me,  and  tell  him 
to  keep  out  of  the  view  of  this  man  until  I  give  him  a 
signal  to  show  himself,"  whispered  the  marshal. 

The  jailer  nodded  and  disappeared,  while  the  officer 

124 


DANE    WALRAVEN  125 

conducted  his  reluctant  prisoner  into  the  long  passage. 
Stopping  there,  he  said  abruptly: 

"Thorp,  do  you  want  to  get  out  of  here  very  badly 
—  to  go  free?" 

The  man  laughed  jeeringly. 

"This  'ere's  not  a  place  to  fall  in  love  with,  do  ye 
think?" 

"It  is  a  comfortable  place,  not  to  say  cheerful,  to 
what  you  are  likely  to  get  into  before  long." 

"Come!"  growled  Thorp,  with  a  startled  look,  "wot 
d'ye  mean?" 

"I  say  you  are  in  a  bad  boat." 

Joel  glared  sullenly  at  his  visitor,  but  held  his  peace. 

"Do  you  remember  the  banker — Walter  Walraven?" 

The  question  was  asked  abruptly,  and  its  effect  upon 
the  prisoner  was  startling.  He  gave  a  hoarse  cry,  and 
staggered  against  the  wall,  where  he  leaned  trem- 
blingly, his  one  hideous  eye  glowing  defiantly,  as  he 
waited  for  what  was  to  come.  Evidently,  what  came 
was  not  what  he  expected;  for  he  gave  a  snort  of  de 
rision  when  the  marshal  said: 

"You  stole  his  body,  you  and  your  accomplice,  Jem 
Crouch,  and  sold  it  to  the  dead  man's  friend!" 

"Is  that  wot  yer  after?"  sneered  Joel. 

The?  marshal  only  eyed  him  complacently,  rubbing 
his  hands  softly  together,  as  if  meditating. 

"You  have  a  daughter,  Martha,"  continued  he,  speak- 
ing slowly. 

"And  a  son,"  suggested  Joel,  with  condescension. 
He  was  beginning  to  feel  in  extremely  good  humor; 
but  it  was  very  short-lived. 


126  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Your  daughter  went  under  the  name  of — Ellen 
Peters!" 

"Wot?" 

Joel  began  to  tremble  anew,  and  the  look  of  dread 
returned  to  his  face. 

"This  girl  of  yours,  calling  herself  Ellen  Peters, 
wormed  herself  into  the  confidence  of  Mrs.  Bardell, 
and  was  taken  into  service  by  that  unfortunate  lady. 
One  evening  Ellen — that  is  to  say, your  daughter  Martha 
— acting  under  the  instructions  of  yourself  and  Jem 
Crouch,  dressed  herself  in  the  clothing  of  Mrs.  Bar- 
dell,  and  took  the  captain's  little  ward,  Dane  Wai- 
raven,  out  for  a  walk,  telling  him  she  was  going  out 
in  that  costume  to  fool  a  sweetheart,  and  he  was  to 
go  with  her  and  see  the  fun." 

"That's  a  lie!"  vociferated  Thorp  fiercely. 

"Your  daughter  then  took  the  boy  into  the  Common, 
and  went  with  him  to  the  marshes,  where  Jem  Crouch 
lurked,  and  delivered  the  child  to  him.  Jem  Crouch 
then  seized  the  boy  by  the  throat,  tied  a  handkerchief 
over  his  mouth,  threw  a  coffee-bag  over  his  head, 
threatening  him  with  death  if  he  kicked  or  made  any 
movement,  and  carried  him  north  by  the  route  of 
Charles,  Cambridge,  Causeway,  and  Lynn  Streets  in- 
to No.  43  Charter  Street,  where  you  kept  him  hidden 
until  the  next  morning.  By  the  first  boat  that  crossed 
the  Winisimet  Ferry,  Jem  Crouch  carried  the  boy  to 
Chelsea,  and  up  on  Powder  Horn  Hill,  where  he  had 
a  den.  Martha  was  there,  and  received  the  boy — " 

"Stop!"  shouted  Joel,  who  had  been  listening  for 
the  last  few  moments,  with  growing  excitement,  which 


DANE    WALRAVEN  1 27 

had  now  become  a  frenzy.  He  himself  was  obliged 
to  stop  after  issuing  his  command,  in  order  to  breathe, 
so  agitated  had  he  become. 

"Well?"  inquired   the  marshal. 

"Were — did — ye  get — them    lies?" 

''From  your— from  Ann  Mock!" 

Joel's  legs  gave  way,  and  he  fell  in  a  collapsed  heap 
upon  the  grimy  floor,  where  he  proceeded  to  go  through 
sundry  performances  of  a  most  astonishing  and  ener- 
getic character,  thumping  his  bushy  head  against  the 
hard  boards,  striking  them  with  his  fists,  and  calling 
down  innumerable  curses  upon  his  betrayer. 

The  marshal  watched  this  ebullition  with  urbane  in- 
difference. When  Joel  had  exhausted  himself,  how- 
ever, and  was  pausing  for  breath,  his  tormentor  said, 
authoritatively: 

"Get  up;  I  have  more  to  tell  you!  " 

With  a  sudden  return  of  the  fear  which  his  rage  had 
for  the  time  nearly  banished,  Joel  sullenly  obeyed. 

"Do  you  remember  a  baker  named  Murray?" 

"Curse  ye!"  yelled  the  desperate  culprit,  clawing 
at  the  air,  while  he  glared  at  his  accuser. 

"You  remember  him.  Well,  on  the  night  of  May  4, 
last,  you  quarreled  with  him  about  a  bill  you  owed  him 
for  bread  and  pastry,  and  you  told  him  you  would  ruin 
him  before  another  night  had  passed.  You  did  ruin 
him,  by  burning  his  house  while  he  and  his  family 
lay  sleeping  in  it,  and  they  were  burned  to  death." 

A  glance  of  terror  shot  from  the  steel-blue  eye,  the 
claw-like  hands  clutched  at  the  sinewy  throat,  then 
dropped  helplessly.  But  suddenly  he  rallied. 


128  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Ye  can't  prove  anythink  on  me,"  said  he. 

"Charlie!"  called  the  marshal. 

Joel  turned  quickly  in  the  direction  of  the  marshal's 
glance,  and  as  he  saw  the  boy  approaching,  he  uttered 
a  hoarse  "Great  Lord!"  and  staggered  against  the 
wall.  His  broad  chest  heaved,  his  single  eye  glared 
upon  this  last  witness  of  his  crimes,  and  froth  oozed 
from  his  closed  lips. 

"This  is  the  boy  you  took  from  the  baker." 

With  a  groan,  the  wretch  closed  his  eye,  but  made 
no  response.  Fear  had,  for  the  first  time  in  his  miser- 
able career,  vanquished  Joel  Thorp. 

"So  you  see,"  pursued  the  marshal,  "your  criminal 
record  is  a  black  one  and  your  career  in  this  country, 
at  least,  is  about  to  close.  You  can  be  imprisoned 
for  life  to  a  certainty;  and  perhaps  you  can  be  hung." 

"Wot  do  ye  want  of  me?"  demanded  Thorp,  sinking 
his  voice  to  a  husky  whisper. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  where  Dane  Walraven  now 
is.  Ann  Mock  says  he  is  no  longer  in  Chelsea.  She 
knows  nothing  now  of  his  whereabouts.  If  she  did,  I 
should  not  have  come  here  to  you,  but  would  have  left 
you  to  pay  the  penalty  of  your  crimes." 

"An'  if  I  tell  you  where  the  kid  is — wot's  in  for 
me?" 

"Wait.  I  want  you  to  tell  me,  also,  where  Jem 
Crouch  and  your  daughter  are." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  the  prisoner,  exultantly,  "I  don't 
object  to  tellin'  that  without  no  bargain.  Jem  an1 
Marthy's  gone  to  England." 

"Well,  the  lad?     Where  is  he?" 


DANE    WALRAVEN 

"I  say  wot  I  said  first — wot's  in  for  me,  if  I  tell 
where  the  kid  is — curse  him?" 

"Freedom  to  return  to  England.  That  is,  you  will 
be  sent  to  England,  and  you  are  never  to  return  to  this 
country." 

"An*  how  can  ye  get  me  out  of  this?"  demanded 
Joel,  suspiciously. 

"There  are  but  four  persons  who  know  of  the  crimes 
you  have  committed  here.  They  are  Captain  Bardell 
and  his  friends.  You  will  be  called  up  for  trial,  and 
no  evidence  will  be  forthcoming,  so  you  will  be  ac- 
quitted; that  is,  you  will  be  discharged.  You  will  then 
go  with  me  to  the  place  where  you  hold  Dane  Wai- 
raven  in  concealment;  and  if  we  find  him  safe  and  un- 
harmed, you  will  then  be  put  on  board  the  Petrel, 
which  sails  for  Liverpool  day  after  to-morrow,  and  your 
passage  paid. " 

"Wery  good,  it's  a  go.  I'll  give  up  the  kid — curse 
'im.  But,"  he  muttered,  under  his  breath,  "it  ain't 
all  over  yet.  There's  scores  to  pay,  an'  by — they'll 
be  paid!" 

But  the  marshal  had  performed  his  mission,  and 
with  a  nod,  had  turned  away,  taking  Charlie  with  him, 
and  leaving  Joel  moodily  staring  at  the  floor. 

As  the  latter  crept  back  to  his  work,  he  drew  his 
bushy  black  brows  into  a  scowl,  and  hissed: 

"Sile  an'  me — we'll  follow  'em — to  the  death!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

FOUND A    WIFE   AND   DAUGHTER! 

June  roses  were  blooming,  June  skies  were  glowing, 
and  the  waters  of  Boston  Harbor  were  dancing  in  the 
golden  noonday. 

One  year  had  gone  since  Dane  Walraven's  return  to 
his  guardian's  roof.  The  boy  had  been  restored  with 
a  blackhead  and  a  brown  skin;  but  the  vigorous  scrub- 
bing both  received  at  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Peldie,  who 
stopped  a  score  of  times  in  the  midst  of  her  delight- 
ful task  to  bestow  Scotch  kisses  upon  the  "puir  bairn," 
had  removed  every  trace  of  stain  and  dye;  and  except 
for  the  yellow  locks,  which  had  been  shorn  by  his  ab- 
ductors, Dane  was  the  same  bonny  lad  as  before  his 
strange  experience. 

The  year  that  had  passed  since  then  had  given  the 
boy  an  inch  in  height,  and  deepened  the  color  in  his 
cheeks,  delighting  his  guardian  with  these  and  other 
indications  of  a  vigorous  youth,  and  calling  from  Mrs. 
Peddie  the  frequent  asseveration  that  — 

"The  laddie  has  the  Howard  strain,  and  a  braw  race 
it  is;  but  there's  the  spoiling  of  a  Hieland  chief  in  the 
chiel." 

The  captain  had  purchased  a  handsome  little  cat- 
rigged  yacht,  which  he  was  desirous  of  trying,  and  on 
this  June  day  he  started  with  Dane  on  a  sail  to  New 

130 


DANE    WALRAVEN  13! 

York.  The  boat  moved  like  a  swallow,  never  heeling 
except  when  fronting  a  swell;  and  after  a  smooth  sail, 
they  arrived  at  the  metropolis,  and  tied  up  in  East 
River. 

On  the  third  day  after  their  arrival,  which  was  the 
Sabbath,  they  attended  Trinity  Church  service.  Seats 
were  given  them  just  inside  the  middle  aisle  to  the 
left  of  the  center  of  the  nave,  the  captain  having  the 
end  seat. 

While  the  congregation  was  slowly  settling  into 
place,  the  eyes  of  Captain  Bardell  wandered  over  to 
the  pew  opposite  his  own,  and  rested  dreamily  upon 
its  occupant,  a  lady  dressed  in  black,  who  had  just 
entered,  and  was  kneeling  at  the  moment  in  prayer. 
Her  figure  was  that  of  a  young  woman,  elegant  and 
graceful;  and  her  head,  bent  reverently  forward,  gave 
a  profile  of  exquisite  contour,  while  the  face,  singular- 
ly pale,  but  of  flawless  complexion,  bore  an  expression 
of  profound  melancholy.  Her  attitude  and  pose,  in- 
deed, suggested  a  resignation  at  once  dignified  and  pa- 
thetic, and  as  the  captain's  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  with 
the  sad  and  yearning  gaze  which  had  never  left  them 
since  the  night  of  his  wife's  flight,  something  within 
him  began  to  stir;  and  his  unconscious  interest  in  the 
unknown  grew  in  intensity  until  it  verged  upon  excite- 
ment. 

Ending  her  brief  devotions,  the  lady  slowly  seated 
herself,  and  sat  quietly  facing  the  minister,  who  imme- 
diately began  his  discourse. 

The  sermon  was  an  able  one,  but  Captain  Bardell's 
gaze  was  glue4  to  the  face  of  the  fair  worshiper,  nor 


132  DANE    WALRAVEN 

did  he  remove  it  for  an  instant  during  the  whole  of 
the  service. 

As  the  congregation  rose  to  leave  the  church,  he 
stood  waiting  in  the  aisle  until  the  lady  passed  out  of 
her  pew,  and  in  doing  so  her  face  was  turned  toward 
him.  Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant;  she  moved  for- 
ward with  a  trance-like  expression,  and  they  stood  face 
to  face. 

'Clara!" 

As  that  was  the  sweetest  word  the  captain  had  ever 
known,  it  naturally  was  the  first  he  uttered — the  name 
of  one  he  had  held  to  his  bosom  as  a  bride,  as  a  wife. 

She  did  not  answer;  but  he  caught  her  hand,  drew 
her  along  through  the  crowded  aisle,  out  into  the 
smiling  sunlight,  and  away  from  the  throng.  She  went 
passively  with  him,  pale  as  a  moonbeam  in  mid-winter, 
rigid  as  an  ice-pinnacle  floating  in  a  polar  sea,  and  as 
cold. 

Dane  had  followed  closely;  and  now  he  seized  her 
other  hand,  which  hung  cold  and  lifelessly  at  her  side, 
and  cried  excitedly 

"Oh,  we  have  found  you!     We  have  found  you!" 

The  boy's  lips  were  pressed  again  and  again  upon 
the  unresponding  fingers,  while  tears  of  joy  from  his 
blue  eyes  rained  upon  them. 

"Clara,  speak!" 

It  was  the  captain's  voice,  the  voice  of  her  husband, 
husky,  faint,  and  pleading. 

After  the  first  lightning  glance  of  recognition,  she 
had  not  looked  at  him.  Now,  as  she  heard  the  low 
and  tremulous  tones  appealing  to  her,  and  knew  there 


DANE    WALRAVEN  133 

was  a  prayer  for  forgiveness  in  them,  she  raised  her 
dark  eyes  to  his  face,  and  searched  its  lineaments. 
She  saw  the  lines  of  trouble  there,  and  the  white 
crown  of  sorrow  that  wreathed  his  noble  head;  and  all 
the  generous  impulses  of  her  nature  clamored  for  his 
pardon.  Then  she  gave  it — in  one  word  that  trembled 
from  her  sweet  lips  like  the  silver  note  of  a  flute — 

"Howard!  " 

Ah,  how  he  yearned  at  that  moment  of  re-union  to 
clasp  her — his  restored  wife — in  his  arms!  But  they 
were  in  the  great  thoroughfare  of  Broadway;  there 
were  thousands  of  eyes  about  them,  and  their  joy  was 
sacred,  they  must  wait. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  he  whispered. 

"To  my  home,  of  course,"  she    murmured. 

Her  home!  It  sounded  like  a  humiliation  to  him. 
She  had  but  one  home,  the  home  she  had  abandoned 
— no,  the  home  his  false  and  cruel  suspicion  had  thrust 
her  from.  But  she  was  restored  to  him,  and  there  was 
to  be  no  more  separation,  no  more  sorrow.  His  heart 
leaped  within  him  at  that  thought. 

Clara  led  the  way  up  Broadway,  and  out  into  the 
suburbs,  stopping  at  a  plain  brick  house  with  a  tiled 
roof,  in  what  is  now  Bond  Street. 

"And  you  live  here?1'  queried  her  husband,  the  tears 
welling  into  his  eyes  as  he  looked  up  at  the  quaint 
little  windows,  curtained  with  dimity. 

"Yes,"  answered  Clara  pensively,  as  they  plied  the 
knocker,  "I  am  a  teacher  in  the  public  schools,  and  I 
have  rooms  with  a  genteel  family  here — Tot  and  I." 

"Tot?     Who  is  that?" 


134  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"You  will  see  her  in  a  moment,"  replied  his  wife, 
with  a  demure  smile. 

A  little  colored  girl  opened  the  door,  and  they  en- 
tered the  hall. 

"Bring  Tot  in,  Isabel,"  Mrs.  Bardell  directed,  as 
she  led  her  husband  and  Dane  into  the  modest  parlor. 

A  crowing  laugh  came  from  the  rear  of  the  hall  at 
that  moment,  and  the  girl  entered,  carrying  in  her 
arms  a  smiling  little  one,  clad  in  the  daintiest  of 
dresses,  bearing  an  absolutely  perfect  resemblance  to 
— Captain  Bardell's  wife! 

"Your  daughter,  Howard,"  was  the  introduction  his 
wife  gave  him  to  the  little  stranger. 

"My — daughter!"  gasped  the  astonished  captain,  for 
a  moment  overcome. 

Needless  is  it  to  dwell  upon  the  bewilderment,  the 
ecstasy  of  the  bronzed  skipper  and  father.  He  held 
the  little  beauty  in  his  arms,  now  close  to  his  breast, 
now  at  arm's  length;  then  he  set  the  prodigy  on  the 
carpet,  and  stood  off  to  see  it  topple  and  fall  over, 
laughing,  exclaiming,  caressing  it  for  full  a  half  hour. 

"Silly  man!"  murmured  the  wife,  who  sat  in  the 
shadow  of  the  small  room,  that  she  might  not  betray 
the  equally  silly,  fact  that  she  was  crying. 

The  antics  of  Dane  added  zest  to  these  perform- 
ances. He  capered  about  the  crowing  wonder  with 
wild  delight. 

''What's  its  name?"  he  demanded,  abruptly  paus- 
ing. 

"Eleanor,  dear,"  returned  the  mother. 

"Just  to  think  of  it,  Guardy, "  cried  he,  down  on  all 
fours  before  it,  "it's  a  girl! " 


DANE    WALRAVEN  135 

"Don't  you  wish  it  was  a  boy?"  asked  the  mother, 
smilingly. 

"No,"  loftily,  "boys  can  take  care  of  theirselves. " 

"And  who  will  take  care  of  Tot?" 

"Me!" 

And  Dane  was  on  his  sturdy  little  legs,  posing  like 
a  diminutive  knight. 

Ah,  if  he  had  always  remembered  his  promise! 

It  was  late  that  night  when  Captain  Bardell  left  his 
wife,  and  returned  to  his  hotel.  Dane  remained  with 
Clara,  insisting  on  sleeping  beside  the  diminutive  mis- 
tress of  his  destiny. 

On  the  following  morning  three  of  the  happiest  peo- 
ple in  New  York  went  to  call  upon  the  gray-haired 
principal  of  the  school  in  which  Clara  taught.  She  had 
frankly  told  him  her  story  when  she  had  made  her  ap- 
plication for  a  department,  and  his  influence  had  done 
much  for  her.  He  was  prepared  for  the  denouement, 
and  sent  her  away  with  her  husband,  with  a  fatherly 
blessing. 

The  trip  back  to  Boston  was  performed  without  a 
single  incident  to  mar  the  happiness  that  pervaded  the 
little  craft;  and  when  they  reached  home — the  home 
which  had  been  so  long  desolate — Mrs.  Peddie  had 
her  full  share  of  surprise,  wonder,  and  delight.  Dane 
explained  to  the  good  dame  that  "Tot"  was  to  be  his 
especial  charge. 

"Aweel,"  she  observed,  looking  down  into  his  blue 
eyes,  "it's  the  lassies  that  will  make  or  mar  ye,  bairn!" 

And  once  more  had  the  Scotch  housekeeper  spoken 
like  an  oracle. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DOCTOR    TOM    PELHAM 

Nineteen  years  of  unbroken  happiness  had  succeeded 
the  reunion  of  the  Bardell  family.  The  house  in  Tre- 
mont  Street  had  become  a  familiar  number  to  the 
young  society  people  of  the  south  end;  and  it  was 
heartily  conceded  that  it  contained  as  interesting  a 
quartette  as  any  home  in  Boston. 

Captain  Bardell  was  now  a  man  of  fifty-four;  but 
apparently  in  perfect  physical  and  mental  vigor,  and 
by  no  means  near  the  end  of  his  active  career.  Clara 
had  become  somewhat  thinner  and  paler  than  seemed 
consistent  with  good  health;  but  her  unvaryingly 
cheerful  spirits  contradicted  any  suspicion  that  her  ap- 
pearance should  be  charged  to  illness.  The  young 
people  had  grown  into  splendid  types  of  manhood  and 
womanhood.  Dane's  blonde  beauty  contrasted  strik- 
ingly well  with  Eleanor's  brunette  loveliness.  His 
form  had  expanded  and  lengthened  until  now  he  stood 
nearly  six  feet  in  height,  but  faultlessly  proportioned, 
and  without  a  suspicion  of  heaviness  in  either  gait  or 
gesture.  The  same  blonde  hair,  blue  eyes,  and  peach- 
like  complexion- drew  admiring  glances  from  women 
and  wondering  stares  from  men,  although  he  was  now 
in  his  twenty-seventh  year.  He  had  graduated  at 
Harvard, had  spent  three  years  in  Europe,  and  had  re- 

1H6 


DANE  WALRAVEN  137 

turned  to  his  home  a  brilliant,  accomplished  and  pol- 
ished man. 

Nor  had  nature  been  less  prodigal  with  Eleanor, 
who  had  developed  into  a  superb  beauty  of  twenty,  re- 
sembling her  mother  in  every  feature,  as  she  did  in 
her  firm  and  amiable  character;  but  in  physical  de- 
velopment she  surpassed  her  mother.  With  a  figure 
large  and  commanding,  an  air  imperial  as  Juno's,  a 
brow  as  classic  as  Diana's,  these,  with  her  intellectual 
attributes,  made  her,  young  as  she  was,  a  social  leader. 
Her  nature  was  peculiarly  sensitive  and  proud,  even  to 
morbidness.  This  trait  may  have  been  attributable  to 
the  unhappy  circumstances  attending  and  surrounding 
her  birth,  and  indeed  that  was  the  explanation  given 
it  tacitly,  by  both  her  parents.  To  a  more  prescient 
eye  than  theirs  she  would  have  suggested  a  nature 
doomed  to  suffer — as  she  was  destined  to — from  the 
faults,  the  sins  of  others. 

Eleanor  had  been  sent  to  a  noted  seminary;  and 
while  there,  she  had  imbibed  certain  ideas  of  the  super- 
natural in  life,  which  we  shall  hereafter  have  occasion 
to  mention  at  length;  and  after  her  return  as  a  grad- 
uate, she  had  continued  her  mysterious  studies  until 
they  acquired  a  mastery  over  her  reason. 

Nothing,  during  the  years  succeeding  the  recovery 
of  Dane  and  the  return  of  Clara,  had  been  seen  or 
heard  of  the  malignant  enemies  who  had  caused  them 
so  many  sorrows,  and  well-nigh  wrecked  their  lives. 
Joel  Thorp  had  been  "transported"  in  effect,  to  En- 
gland, and  dared  not  return  to  America. 

His  spouse  had  settled  in  Marblehead    with  her   re- 


138  DANE    WALRAVEN 

pentant  husband,  while  Jem  Crouch  and  Martha  had 
also  crossed  the  sea,  after  a  hasty  marriage  before  a 
civil  official  in  New  York.  Silas  had  never  been  seen 
by  the  Bardells  since  the  burning  of  the  Armadillo. 
The  whole  dangerous  brood  had  long,  since  been  for- 
gotten, except  as  hideous  memories  which  the  surviv- 
ors of  their  infamous  plots  strove  to  banish,  and  to 
which  they  never  referred. 

They  were  yet  to  realize  that  the  reptiles  were  only 
dormant,  and  were  yet  to  strike  twice  at  their  lives, 

0 

their  honor,  and  their  domestic  peace. 

Dane  and  Eleanor  had  long  been  taught  to  look  for- 
ward to  a  union  with  each  other;  and  as  there  had 
never  been  any  compulsory  suggestion  offered  them, 
they  were  quite  willing  to  marry,  and  were  now  be- 
trothed. Arrangements  were,  indeed,  already  in  prog- 
ress for  the  celebration  of  their  nuptials  at  Christmas- 
tide,  in  an  elaborate  and  imposing  manner.  The 
wealth  inherited  by  Dane  from  his  unfortunate  father 
had  accumulated  so  steadily, -that  it  now  amounted  tq 
not  less  than  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  a  princely 
fortune  at  that  date  for  a  young  man.  But,  besides 
this  patrimony,  the  captain  had  amassed  a  considera- 
ble fortune,  and  Eleanor  was  the  only  one  to  inherit 
it.  Thus,  with  fortune,  health,  physical  beauty  and 
social  prestige,  there  really  seemed  to.  be  in  store  for 
these  favored  children  nothing  save  happiness,  un- 
broken and  prolonged. 

But  when  have  human  calculations  provided  against 
"possibility?"  There  are  two  pigmy  words — pigmies 
that  have  the  terrible  attributes  of  giants — constantly 


DANE    WALRAVEN  139 

overlooked  in  human  calculations,  and  as  constantly 
looming  up  in  front  of  the  calculators  to  disappoint,  to 
balk,  or  to  defeat  them:  "If,"  and  "But."  In  future 
pages  of  this  history  these  two  words  are  talismanic, 
they  stand  beyond  like  two  grim  mountains,  directly 
in  the  path  of  our  darlings  and  only  too  soon  will  their 
unconscious  feet  lead  to  them. 

It  was  now  the  midsummer,  and  a  great  number  of 
people  in  the  city  were  prostrated  by  sickness.  Among 
the  various  disorders  that  prevailed,  several  cases  of 
malignant  small  pox  had  been  reported  to  the  city  phy- 
cians;  but  the  most  serious  was  an  insidious  disease, 
known  in  modern  medical  nomenclature  as  ''tubercu- 
losis." It  had  been  for  several  months  making  sad 
ravages  among  the  lower  and  poorer  classes  in  the  city, 
attracting  the  special  attention  of  the  professors  in  the 
medical  college  in  Mason  Street;  and  the  lecturers  in 
debate  had  sent  some  of  their  theses  to  the  newspapers. 
Other  physicians  followed  with  press  articles,  and  a 
spirited  controversy  began.  One  of  these  articles, 
headed  "Theories  of  the  Youngest  Physician  in  Bos- 
ton," appeared  one  morning  in  the  "Transcript;"  and 
when  Captain  Bardell  came  down  to  his  breakfast  he 
found  his  favorite  paper  lying  moist  and  inviting  be- 
side his  plate,  with  the  above  head-lines  beckoning  his 
attention.  He  read  the  first  paragraph  aloud: 

"The  distinct  product  of  mal-assimilation  is  tubercle. 
*  *  *  Calcarea  and  iodine  should  be  depended  upon 
as  remedial  and  restorative  agents;  calcarea  being 
especially  demanded  when  innutrition  is  caused  en- 
tirely by  functional  derangement.  Diet  and  hygienic 
aids,  also,  must  not  be  neglected." 


140  DANE   WALRAVEN 

"There,"  observed  the  captain,  laying  down  his  pa- 
per, and  leisurely  wiping  his  glasses,  "I  call  that  a 
bold  presentation,  a — a — fine  diathesis — of  this  devil- 
ish malady.  This  doctor  knows  what  he's  talking 
about."  (It  is  doubtful  if  the  captain  did.)  "He's  a 
neighbor,  too,  Clara." 

"Indeed?"  nodded  Clara,  sipping  her  coffee,  and 
smiling  in  it. 

"Egad,  yes.  Came  here  from  New  York,  I  under- 
stand, and  has  taken  an  office  four  doors  from  here — 
front  rooms.  I've  seen  him  on  the  street  twice." 

"Did  he  offer  to  vaccinate  you,  papa  mine?"  laughed 
Eleanor,  who  had  just  had  her  own  experience. 

"Vaccinate  me!  Why,  Tot,  I've  been  on  board  ship 
with  five  cases  below  deck,  and— but  people  are  much 
more  sensitive  to  disease  in  these  effeminate  days." 

"Is  the  doctor  nice?"  inquired  his  daughter,  slyly 
glancing  at  Dane. 

"Ha,  ha,  you  minx!  I'll  go  and  find  out.  Yes, 
I'll  call  on  him  this  morning,  and  have  a  bit  of  a  chat 
with  him." 

The  call  was  made,  and  the  captain  came  back  to 
report  to  his  wife. 

"He's  the  cleverest  young  man  I  ever  met,"  was  his 
verdict.  "Only  twenty-eight,  but  brimful  of — of  ther- 
apeutics, pharmacy,  and — ah,  science.  Good-looking, 
and  gentlemanly,  too.  And,  egad,  Clara,  I  asked  him 
to  come  and  dine  with  us  next  Sunday." 

Mrs.  Bardell  smiled.  She  never  found  fault  with  her 
husband's  social  eccentricities;  and  his  impromptu 
invitations  never  raised  a  storm  at  home. 


DANE   WALRAVEN  14! 

"What  is  his  name?"  she  asked. 

"Dr.  Tom  Pelham,"  answered  the  captain  briskly; 
"a  good  name,  too,  my  dear,  a  very  respectable  name 
— English.  You'll  like  him." 

Doctor  __  Pelham  came  to  the  Sunday  dinner,  and 
comported  himself  so  well  that  he  received  another 
invitation  for  the  Sunday  following,  which  he  gracious- 
ly accepted.  Then  the  captain  discovered  that  his  new 
acquaintance  played  whist;  so,  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  doctor  spent  every  Wednesday  and  Saturday  even- 
ing thereafter  at  the  Bardell  whist  table;  and  within 
a  month,  the  two,  despite  the  long  bridge  between 
them  in  the  matter  of  age,  were  professed  cronies. 

From  this  social  relation  it  was  but  a  step  to  the 
professional;  and  the  step — irretrievable,  terrible  in 
its  consequences — was  soon  to  be  taken. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

CAPTAIN  BARBELL  PLAYS  NO  MORE  WHIST 

"Now  for  our  game! 
We  must  be  foxes,  velvet-pawed 
And  wary."  — The  Conspirators. 

One  morning  Doctor  Pelham  was  called  in  to  see 
Captain  Bardell,  whom  he  found  still  in  bed,  although 
it  was  past  ten  o'clock. 

"No  whist  to-night,  I'm  afraid!"  he  exclaimed, 
looking  ruefully  out  from  a  mass  of  quilts,  with  very 
red  eyes. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear  sir?"  inquired  the  physician, 
with  an  air  of  solicitude,  as  he  approached  the  great 
four-post  bedstead. 

"Why — confound  it — night  before  last,  half  an  hour 
after  you  left  here,  I  was  taken  with  a  congestive 
chill,"  explained  the  patient,  speaking  with  some  diffi- 
culty. "I  got  over  it,  but  have  felt  very  queer  ever 
since.  I've  a  strange  numbness  in  my  head  and  limbs, 
and  have  kept  mewed  in  my  room,  in  consequence. 
First  time  in  my  life,  sir!  Never  sick  before;  but  I 
had  a  curiosity  to  know  how  people  feel  when  they're 
sick— ugh! — and  my  curiosity  is  more  than  gratified — 
ugh!" 

The  patient  drew  himself  together  suddenly,  as  if  he 
experienced  a  sharp  twinge. 

142  * 


DANE    WALRAVEN  143 

"Where  is  the  pain  now?"   asked  the  doctor. 

"Pains,  you  mean;  all  over,"  groaned  he.  "I  found 
I  couldn't  walk  this  morning,  except  like  a  hobble-de- 
hoy;  so  I  took  Mrs.  Bardell's  advice,  and — here  I  am, 
as  the  oyster  said  when  the  crab  looked  into  his  shell. " 

"Ah,  if  you  are  not  too  sick  to  joke,  we'll  soon  be 
at  the  whist  table  again,"  smiled  the  doctor. 

"Don't  know  about  that;  my  tongue's  covered  with 
barnacles,  and  I'm  on  my  beam-end — ugh!" 

"Well,  I  will  look  at  your  tongue.  Aha,  furry. 
Now,  your  eyes — umph,  bad!  By  the  by,  you  told  me 
the  other  night  that  your  daily  walks  extend  from 
seven  to  ten  miles?" 

"Yes,  in  fair  weather.  That's  the  way  I  keep  myself 
supple,"  returned  the  captain,  complacently. 

"Umph.  And  you  have  frequently  come  home  very 
tired,  of  course?" 

"Yes,  sometimes,"  was  the  reluctant  admission. 
The  captain  had  his  weaknesses.  But  a  man  without 
a  weakness  would  not  be  a  lovable  man,  and  he  was  a 
charming  one. 

"Had  a  fall— lately?" 

"Egad,  yes!"  with  some  surprise,  since  he  had  heard 
no  one  laugh,  and  had  told  no  one  about  it. 

"Slipped  on  the  sidewalk,  maybe,  and  got  a  bad 
knock,  or — 

"Why,  confound  it,  I  did  slip  and  fall  last  week — 
in  my  warehouse,  and  got  a  rough  reception  from  the 
floor,  but  no  one  saw  it." 

"On  the  head?" 

"Head  and  shoulder;  quite  a  shaking  up;  I  weigh 
one  hundred  and  ninety,  now. " 


144  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Any  nausea?" 

"Twice;  worse  than  a  sea-sick  land-lubbe'rs  connip- 
tion!" with  disgust. 

"Haven't  slept  well,  skin  hot,  wanted  to  be  always 
moving  about,  eh?"  continued  the  doctor,  thrusting  his 
white  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets,  and  partly  clos- 
ing his  eyes. 

"Come,  ease  off,  doctor!"  expostulated  the  patient; 
"great  whales!  you  must  have  gotten  a  looking-glass 
inside  of  me!  You've  made  a  good,  a  deuced  good — 
er — ah — " 

"Diagnosis  and — "  prompted  the  doctor. 

"What?  No,  egad,  I  said  you  have  made  a  deuced 
good  diagnosis,"  growled  the  captain,  whose  sensitive- 
ness brooked  no  exposure  of  his  unfamiliarity  with 
medical  terms. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  have,"  assented  Doctor  Pelham, 
drumming  abstractedly  on  the  back  of  a  chair. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  nothing  heard  in  the 
room  save  the  stertorous  breathing  of  the  patient. 
Then  the  doctor  turned,  with  a  sudden,  swinging 
movement,  toward  the  bed. 

"Well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  he,  "you  will  not  take 
any  more  long  walks." 

"Order  number  one,"  groaned  the  sufferer;   "goon." 

"I  shall  have  to  put  you  in  training  for  a  long  course 
of  treatment — 

"What?" 

The  captain  fairly  bounced  in  his  bed. 

"Oh,"  puffing  indignantly^  "then  I  am  to  be  cat- 
hauled  and  keel-hauled,  eh?" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  145 

"Treatment,  dietetic  and — " 

"Wait  a  bit,"  shouted  the  skipper,  propping  himself 
on  his  pillows,  with  an  effort.  "Order  number  two — 
miik-and-water,  spoon-food — go  on,  sir!"  with  stern 
reproach  in  his  fine  eyes. 

"How  old  are  you,  captain?"  queried  the  physician, 
meditatively. 

"A  boy,  sir,  a  mere  boy,"  responded  he,  irritably. 
Was  he  going  to  be  told  next  that  he  must  don  flannels 
and  night-caps!  Egad,  he  would  repudiate  order 
number  three. 

But  the  doctor  did  not  seem  to  threaten  such  an  in- 
dignity, nor  even  to  expect  or  need  an  answer  to  his 
question,  for,  in  the  same  abstracted  tone,  he  answered 
the  question  himself — "Fifty-four — "  and  then  abruptly 
stopped,  stared,  and  glanced  quickly  at  the  patient. 
Indeed,  his  manner  for  the  past  five  minutes  had  been 
odd,  not  to  say  moody.  His  mind  appeared  to  be 
wandering  very  far  from  his  body. 

The  captain  manifested  surprise  again,  "Who  told 
you  I  am  fifty-four?  I  don't  deny  it,  though;  that's 
nothing.  My  father's  father  died  at  ninety." 

"Yes,  a  splendid  old  oak — and  looked  like  one — " 

"What?  What  do  you  know  about  him?  Did  you 
ever  see  him?"  demanded  the  captain,  opening  his 
reddened  eyes  very  widely. 

"H'm — I?     Oh,  certainly  not.     Of  course    not." 

Doctor  Pelham  seemed  to  "jerk"  himself  together 
with  an  angry  effort.  He  walked  to  a  window,  and 
back  to  the  bed,  as  if  to  waken  his  faculties  out  of  a 
sleep. 


146  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Well,"  resumed  the  patient,  "you've  told  me  enough 
to  bother  me,  now  go  on  and  give  me  the  whole  dose. " 
"Unpleasant,     isn't    it?"      remarked    the     doctor, 
placidly. 

"Deucedly  so.      But — what  is  the  matter  with  me?" 

"There  are  grave  symptoms  of  meningitis,  my  poor 
friend." 

"You  don't  tell  me!" 

"Involving  the  dura  mater    and  cranial  arachnoid." 

"The  devil,  you  say!" 

The  ex-skipper  had  not  the  slightest  conception  of 
the  doctor's  meaning;  but  when  he  had  used  those 
wonderful  nautical  phrases  on  board  ship,  he  had  felt 
a  mild  contempt  for  the  gaping  land-lubbers  who  list- 
ened with  such  reverence  and  bewilderment;  and  he 
would  not  for  a  moment  show  his  own  ignorance  of  this 
other  craft,  strange  as  it  was  to  him.  However,  what- 
ever the  doctor  meant,  his  words  implied  something 
serious,  so  his  face  became  grave.  Then,  savagely: 

"Well,  well,  what  is  the  treatment  you  propose?" 

"I  shall  use  aconite  and  belladonna,  and — primarily 
— arnica  as  a  prophylactic;  and  I  shall  prescribe  a 
regimen  of  diet  to-morrow." 

"And  coop  me  up  in  the  hold — under  hatches — quar- 
antined— in  hock — b-r-r — " 

The  captain's  fuming  was  stifled  under  the  bed- 
clothes, which  he  drew  viciously  over  his  head,  as  if 
to  end  the  vexatious  interview. 

Doctor  Pelham  glanced  at  the  heap  on  the  bed, 
smiled  singularly,  and  softly  opened  the  door. 

As  he  closed  it  gently  behind  him,  the  captain  thrust 


DANE    WALRAVEN  147 

his  head  out  of  a  mountain  of  quilts,  and  shouted   after 
him: 

"Bring  in  your    hospital    stores,  and  come  on — and 
be  d — d  to  you!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  DEATH-BED  WARNING — "BEWARE   OF  HIM" 

Doctor  Pelham  had  reached  the  front  door,  when 
the  door  of  the  library  opened,  and  Mrs.  Bardell  stood 
on  the  threshold.  She  was  looking  even  paler  than 
usual,  and  her  manner  betrayed  anxiety. 

"Ah,  madam,"  exclaimed  the  young  physician,  lift- 
ing his  hat  gracefully,  as  he  held  it  in  his  hand,  "my 
poor  friend  up  there  is  about  to  see  me  more  frequently 
than  ever,  but  not  at  the  whist-table,  where  he  always 
won  the  odd  game." 

"Is  it  anything  more  than  a  cold?"  asked  she,  dis- 
turbed by  his  manner. 

"It  is  something  quite  different,"  replied  he,  grave- 
ly; and  then  he  proceeded  to  tell  her,  in  a  soothing 
voice,  of  the  real  malady,  and  the  treatment  that  was 
imperative  in  the  case. 

Mrs.  Bardell  listened  to  the  low  tones  of  the  physi- 
cian with  growing  apprehension.  Her  face  clouded,  a 
gray  tint  crept  into  it,  and  she  became  momentarily 
more  agitated. 

"It  is,  then,  a  very  serious  matter?"  she  asked, 
faintly 

"I  must  confess,  madam,  that  the  symptoms  are 
serious;  but  we  must  not  lose  courage.  Between  my- 
self and  you,  he  cannot  lack  care." 

148 


DANE    WALRAVEN 


149 


"Ah — you  are  to  be  his  physician  then?" 

Doctor  Pelham  bowed.  There  was  something  like 
irony  in  his  voice,  as  he  answered: 

"Yes,  madam,  I  shall  have  that  sad  privilege; "  and 
with  a  final  movement  of  his  head,  he  left  her. 

Mrs.  Bardell  looked  wistfully  after  him  until  the 
hall-door  closed.  Her  eyes  bore  a  troubled  expression, 
and  there  was  a  slight  frown  on  her  face,  as  she  went 
up  the  stairs  to  her  husband's  room.  She  had. never 
felt  anything  but  indifference  toward  the  physician 
until  now.  But  at  this  moment,  for  some  reason  un- 
accountable to  herself,  she  experienced  a  shock;  and 
discovered  that  what  she  h?d  supposed  was  indiffer- 
ence, was  in  reality  a  settled  antipathy. 

"Hillo,  Clara!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  as  she  en- 
tered his  room,  "did  you  see  Pelham  before  he  went 
off?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  replied  she,  taking  a  seat  by  the  bed. 
"And  he  tells  me  that  you  are  to  have  only  himself. 
Do  you  not  think  it  would  be  more  prudent  to  call  in 
an  older  physician,  one  we  are  better  acquainted  with?" 

"Tut!  The  old  school  is  going  out;  there's  a  new 
order  of  things.  Pelham  is  progressive;  and  besides, 
he's  a  man  of  ideas;  and  as  for  knowing  any  one  bet- 
ter, why,  I  know  him  through  and  through.  He's  aw- 
fully transparent — like  most  men  of  genius,  actually 
stupid,  outside  of  his  profession.  No,  my  love,  I'll 
keep  Tom  at  the  helm,  and  weather  it— ugh!" 

But  the  captain  grew  rapidly  worse.  In  three  weeks 
he  was  woefully  changed  in  appearance;  in  five,  he 
was  apparently  on  the  verge  of  dementia;  then  fol- 


150  DANE    WALRAVEN 

lowed  almost  constant  stupor;  and  when  the  first  Octo- 
ber tints  clothed  the  trees  in  gala-dress,  he  was  borne 
under  them  by  a  grieving  multitude;  and  Doctor  Tom 
Pelham  led  them. 

For  some  months  previous  to  this  terrible  bereave- 
ment, Clara's  health  had  been  steadily  declining;  dur- 
ing the  latter  part  of  her  husband's  illness  she  had 
sacrificed  it  by  constant  attendance  upon  him;  and 
finally,  when  she  felt  his  hand  growing  cold  in  hers," 
and  watched  the  shadow  stealing  over  his  wasted  face, 
her  fortitude  itself  gave  way.  She  went  from  his 
funeral  to  her  death-bed. 

Mrs.Peddie,  who  was  now  too  old  to  be  of  any  serv- 
ice, and  who  had  been  retained  only  as  a  supernumer- 
ary, because  of  her  past  faithful  services,  exhibited 
the  most  grotesque  anger  when  the  quondam  friend  of 
her  mistress,  the  Widow  Farnsworth,  was  sent  for  to 
nurse  the  invalid.  But  the  cheerful,  and  still  plump 
little  widow,  proved,  ere  a  week  of  her  ministrations 
had  passed,  that  she  was  indispensable,  notwithstand- 
ing Eleanor's  untiring  and  earnest  devotion  at  her 
mother's  bedside,  supplemented  by  the  tenderness  of 
Dane,  who  read  to  her,  waited  at  her  door  for  mes- 
sages, and  spent  nights  of  sleeplessness,  that  he  might 
be  at  hand  if  he  was  needed  in  the  sick-room. 

A  few  days  before  the  end  came,  something  extra- 
ordinary occurred  in  Clara's  chamber.  A  stranger  had 
appeared  at  the  front  door  one  morning  at  an  early 
hour,  and  demanded  to  see  Mrs.  Bardell.  Mrs.  Farns- 
worth answered  his  summons,  and  explained  that  Mrs. 
Bardell  was  lying  dangerously  ill,  and  any  message 


DANE    WALRAVEN  151 

should  be  left  with  herself.  The  man  hesitated,  but 
at  length  drew  from  a  pocket  a  packet,  which  he  de- 
livered to  the  widow,  sternly  enjoining  her  to  deliver 
it  into  Clara's  hands  without  delay,  as  its  contents 
were  of  grave  interest  to  her.  It  was  very  securely 
tied  in  a  thick  wrapper  of  brown  paper,  and  the  name 
— Mrs.  Howard  Bardell — and  the  word — Important — 
were  boldly  written  on  the  outside. 

Mrs.  Farnsworth  carried  the  packet  into  the  sick- 
room, telling  Mrs.  Bardell  not  to  open  it  until  she 
grew  better,  since  it  was  most  probably  a  business 
matter,  and  she  was  in  no  condition  to  attend  to  busi- 
ness, etc. 

But  of  course  the  packet  was  opened,  the  contents 
inspected,  read,  and  then — ! 

There  came  from  Mrs.  Bardell's  chamber  shriek  after 
shriek,  succeeded  by  groan  after  groan — then  silence, 
as  if  some  fell  sorrow,  some  indescribable  horror  had 
invaded  it,  ending  in  death  or  a  swoon! 

Mrs.  Farnsworth  had  come  forth  from  the  room, 
after  a  time,  with  a  white  and  horror-stricken  face, 
and  eyes  in  which  terror  seemed  to  have  taken  lodg- 
ment for  all  after  time,  and  summoned  a  servant, 
whom  she  sent  to  bring  the  doctor.  No  one  was  in 
the  house  except  this  one  servant,  the  widow,  and 
Mrs.  Bardeil,  and  the  latter  divulged  nothing  of  what 
had  transpired  behind  the  closed  3oor.  It  remained  a 
mystery  for  days  afterward;  but  it  hastened  Clara 
Bardell's  death,  which  was  now  very  near  at  hand. 

In  her  last  hour  she  requested  to  be  left  alone  with 
Dane  and  Eleanor,  to  whom  she  wished  to  impart  her 


152  DANE    WALRAVEN 

last    thoughts,  to    give    her    last  commands,   as    they 
knelt  in  mourning  garb  at  her  bedside. 

In  a  slow  half-whisper,  with  her  blue-veined  hands 
resting  lovingly  upon  them,  she  told  them  her  wishes 
They  were  to  be  married  a  month  after  her  death,  and 
Eleanor  was  to  wear  the  wedding  ring  upon  her  own 
ringer,  a  splendid  gem  which  had  been  in  the  captain's 
family  for  generations. 

"Six  brides  have  worn  it,"  she  whispered,  taking  it 
off  and  putting  it  in  Dane's  trembling  hand,  "and  it 
once  belonged  to  Queen  Mary  of  Scotland.  May  your 
life,  my  darling,  be  as  full  of  sunshine  as  hers  was 
full  of  clouds  and  storm." 

After  that,  she  lay  back  upon  her  pillow  for  awhile, 
breathing  faintly  at  first,  as  though  exhausted.  But 
the  grieving  eyes  that  watched  her  face,  saw  a  change 
coming  into  it,  a  change  that  frightened  them.  It  was 
not  the  look  of  a  dying  person,  but  a  look  of  horror, 
growing  in  intensity,  driving  back,  by  its  very  energy, 
the  specter  that  crept  toward  her.  She  strove  to  put 
down  the  tumult  that  surged  within  her,  to  become 
calm,  that  she  might  communicate  the  strange  thoughts 
which  would  reveal  something  to  them.  At  last  she 
succeeded;  and  turning  toward  the  silent  watchers,  she 
beckoned  them  to  lean  closer  to  her  pillow. 

Death  was  very  near,  when  she  uttered  her  final 
words — terrible  words — and  she  never  finished  them. 

"Dane,"  she  whispered,  hurriedly,  looking  into  his 
eyes  with  an  awful  expression  in  her  own,  "you  have 
become  much  attached  to — tot Doctor  Pelham — I  be- 
lieve?" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  153 

The  fair  head  bowed  assent;  he  was    too  full  of    an 
guish  to  trust  his  voice. 

The  dying  woman  raised  herself  upon  her  elbow  by 
a  last  supernal  effort;  her  breath  now  came  in  quick 
and  painful  gasps,  her  eyes,  sunken  and  glittering 
with  a  supreme  light,  glanced  like  scathing  lightnings 
into  his,  as  she  uttered,  nay,  shrieked,  into  his  ears — 

"Beware  of  him!  He  is  the  son  of  Joel  Thorp — and 
the  poisoner  of  my  husband!" 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

THE  CONFESSION  OF    SILAS  THORP 

"  Murder  was  his  familiar,  and 

Whene'er  he  beckoned,  its  red  hand 

Fell  cleaving."  — The  Conspirators 

On  the  evening  after  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Bardell, 
Mrs.  Farnsworth  came  into  the  library  where,  for  sev- 
eral hours,  Dane  Walraven  had  been  sitting  in  mourn- 
ful abstraction,  and  held  out  to  him,  with  a  shudder- 
ing gesture,  a  packet  loosely  tied. 

"Read  it,"  she  said,  as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room, 
"and  then  do  what  you  think  is  for  the  best  after- 
wards. It  is  from  a  monster,  and  may  the  kind  Lord 
protect  you  from  him,  and  keep  him  and  his  out  of 
your  path — unless  you  find^him  here,  and  deliver  him 
up  to  the  law!" 

With  a  feeling  of  dread,  Dane  opened  the  packet  and 
spread  its  contents  upon  a  table.  The  first  articles 
his  eyes  rested  upon  were  two  daguerreotypes,  one 
of  which  he  instantly  recognized  as  that  of  Doctor 
Pejham;  the  other  was  the  portrait  of  a  boy  of  perhaps 
fifteen  years  of  age,  bearing  an  unmistakable  likeness 
to  the  doctor. 

"Silas  Thorp!"  exclaimed  Dane,  letting  the  case 
fall  to  the  floor,  in  his  agitation  and  amazement.  The 
meaning  of  Mrs.  Bardell,  which  had  been  inexplicable 

154 


DANE    WALRAVEN 


155 


at  the  time  she  uttered  those  terrible  words,  "He  is 
the  son  of  Joel  Thorp,"  appeared  in  these  two  por- 
traits. It  explained  much;  but  more  awaited  him. 

With  trembling  fingers  he  took  up  the  heavily  writ- 
ten document  which  lay  before  him,  and  glanced  at  it 
with  paling  features  and  steel-like  flashes  from  his 
eyes — and  then  he  rang  for  a  servant. 

"Go  to  Miss  Bardell,"  said  he,  "and  ask  her  to  come 
to  the  library." 

Eleanor  made  her  appearance  at  once,  and  Dane 
showed  her  the  daguerreotypes.  For  a  moment  she 
was  overcome. 

"Oh,  Dane,"  sobbed  the  poor  girl,  "it  is  too  horri- 
ble! I  cannot  bear  it." 

"It  is  horrible,"  returned  he,  sternly,  "and  yet  there 
is  more — more  for  you  to  learn,  my  poor  darling.  But 
sit  down  here,  and  I  will  read  this  paper  to  you.  Sit 
still  and  keep  control  of  your  feelings  as  best  you  can, 
for  what  is  written  here  should  be  remembered  by  us, 
for  our  own  sakes,  and  for  the  sake  of  your  murdered 
father,  whose  death  it  will  be  my  duty  to  avenge  by 
bringing  the  murderer  to  justice." 

Eleanor  sank  into  a  chair,  while  with  pale  com- 
posure Dane  read  the  infamous  pages  which  we  now 
transcribe: 

"To  the  widow  of  Howard  Bardell: — I  send  you, 
with  this  bit  of  family  history  and  explanation  of  the 
course  I  have  pursued  toward  your  late  husband,  min- 
iatures of  my  humble  self  at  two  eventful  dates  in 
my  life;  one  was  taken  when  I  left  England  on  the 
Armadillo  for  America;  the  other,  when  I  was  so  fort- 


156  DANE    WALRAVEN 

unate  as  to  revive,  under  the  name  by  which  you 
knew  me,  the  pleasing  (?)  acquaintance  of  the  captain 
of  that  unfortunate  vessel." 

(Here  followed  a  detailed  narrative  of  all  the  events 
in  the  lives  of  his  mother,  his  father,  and  himself, 
with  which  we  are  already  acquainted.) 

"I  went  to  New  York,  studied  medicine,  returned  to 
this  city,  and  took  an  office  as  near  as  I  could  to  your 
residence,  hoping  that  fortune  would  afford  me  the  op- 
portunity I  looked  for  to  avenge  my  mother's  death, 
and  the  indignities  inflicted  on  my  father  and  myself. 
Captain  Bardell  gave  me  the  opportunity  sooner  than 
I  had  expected.  I  could  have  saved  his  life:  /  took 
it! 

"Three  of  the  four  accursed  beings  against  the  hap- 
piness and  the  lives  of  whom  my  family  was  sworn  to 
plot,  are  dead.  Walter  Walraven's  wife  was  seized 
in  the  garden  at  Greystoke  Castle  by  Crouch  and  my 
father,  gagged,  carried  to  a  certain  spot  in  sight  of 

Penrith,  and  sunk  with  rocks  in  the .  Walter 

Walraven  was  struck  in  the  head,  while  struggling  in 
the  Charles  River,  side  by  side  with  my  father,  Joel 
Thorp,  who  hurled  a  rock  at  his  skull,  crushing  it, 
and  causing  his  death.  Howard  Bardell  died  from  the 
generous  doses  of  aconite  and  morphia  administered 
to  him  by  me — Silas  Thorp!  Dane  Walraven  still  re- 
mains. I  could  have  killed  him  as  well;  but  there  is 
another  fate  reserved  for  him.  With  all  his  pretty  virt- 
ues, there  is  one  vulnerable  spot  in  his  character,  and 
through  that  will  his  ruin  be  worked  out,  through  the 
agency  of  those  so  deeply  wronged  by  him  and  his! 


DANE    WALRAVEN  157 

"When  you  read  this,  I  shall  be  on  the  sea.  I  reveal 
all  this  because  you  will,  in  your  turn,  reveal  it  to  your 
child — the  daughter  of  Howard  Bardell — and  to  his 
ward,  the  son  of  Walter  Walraven.  Farewell — until 
the  last  blow  falls.  SILAS  THORP." 

When  Dane  had  read  the  last  word  of  this  extraor- 
dinary confession,  he  turned  in  his  chair  to  look  at 
Eleanor.  Absorbed  so  absolutely  by  the  horrible  story, 
he  had  heard  no  movement  from  her;  and  now,  when 
his  glance  fell  upon  her  motionless  figure  stretched 
upon  the  carpet,  he  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay,  and  sprang 
to  her  assistance.  She  had  listened  to  the  frightful 
tale  with  enforced  calmness,  until  the  agony  it  inflicted 
became  insupportable;  then,  without  a  moan,  she  had 
slipped  to  the  floor  in  a  swoon. 

When  the  unhappy  girl  returned  to  consciousness 
she  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  the  kind  face  of  Mrs.  Farns- 
worth  bending  over  her,  while  Dane  knelt  near  her. 
They  were  chafing  her  hands,  and  bathing  her  temples 
with  camphor. 

"Oh,  Dane,  what  a  frightful  dream!"  she  exclaimed 
tremulously,  rising  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  pushing 
back  her  thick  hair  with  a  nervous  gesture.  "What 
can  it  all  mean?" 

"It  is  na  dream,  my  darling,"  said  he,  gently  strok- 
ing her  hand;  "unfortunately,  the  wretch  has  told  the 
truth. " 

"What — that  papa  was — murdered?"  she  gasped, 
again  growing  faint. 

"Yes,  that  your  father  was  murdered  by  Silas  Thorp, 
and  indirectly,  your  mother's  death  lies  also  at  his 


158  DANE    WALRAVEN 

door;  and  that  my  father  and  mother  were  murdered 
by  Joel  Thorp  and  his  accomplice,  Jem  Crouch,"  an- 
swered Dane,  in  hard  and  measured  tones. 

"Oh,  oh — it  is  hideous — hideous!"  cried  the  girl, 
sinking  back  upon  the  sofa,  while  she  looked  around 
her  with  a  bewildered  stare. 

"And  now,"  continued  Dane,  an  inexorable  purpose 
gleaming  in  his  eyes,  "there  remains  for  me  a  stern 
duty — to  bring  those  three  wretches  to  justice." 

"Oh,  Dane,  what  would  you  do?"  demanded  Elea- 
nor, grasping  his  arm  nervously.  A  new  fear  had 
seized  upon  her. 

"Hunt  them  over  the  world,  find  them,  and — deliver 
them  up  to  justice,  or  mete  out  justice  to  them  my- 
self." 

"Oh,  heaven,  Dane,  do  you  really  mean  to  follow 
them  up?"  she  asked,  terrified  at  such  a  miserable 
prospect. 

"Again,  I  say,  it  is  my  duty  to  find  the  murderers, 
and  to  mete  out  justice  to  them — if  the  arm  of  the  law 
will  not  reach  them.  It  would  be  retributive  justice 
in  either  case." 

"No,  no,  leave  them  to  God!"  moaned  the  poor  girl. 

Dane  smiled  bitterly. 

"Divine  justice,"  returned  he,  "will  take  its  course, 
whatever  man  may  do — whatever  I  may  do.  But  these 
monsters  have  violated  human  laws  also,  and  society 
demands  that  they  be  brought  to  punishment  at  the 
bar  of  human  justice." 

"But,  Dane,  think  of  the  peril  to  yourself!"  urged 
Eleanor. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  159 

"If  I  thought  of  the  peril  to  myself,"  replied  he,  "I 
should  be  a  dastard;  and  if  I  lay  supinely  moaning 
the  horrible  fate  of  my  parents — and  of  yours — I 
should  be  as  heartless  a  wretch  as  ever  disgraced  hu- 
manity. No,  Eleanor,  it  is  a  solemn,  an  imperative 
duty,  devolving  upon  me  alone,  and  I  must  perform  it." 

"And  when — how  will  you  undertake  to— to  perform 

"How  I  shall  begin,  and  how  prosecute,  the  search 
for  these  miscreants,  is  yet  to  be  determined,  my  love," 
returned  Dane,  •  soothingly.  "But,"  turning  with  a 
tender  smile  toward  her,  "we  must,  first  of  all,  obey 
the  dying  request  of  your  mother.  Immediately  after 
the"  marriage  we  will  go  to  England.  I  have  intended 
to  go  for  some  time  past;  I  want  to  visit  the  scenes 
of  my  childhood,  and  to  see  the  old  manor,  where  I 
was  born,  and  to  visit  Carlisle,  the  early  home  of  your 
father.  It  was  a  mere  accident,  and  one  I  greatly  re- 
gretted, that  I  did  not  go  to  the  two  most  sacred 
places  in  the  world — to  me — when  I  went  to  Europe. 
At  Carlisle,  perhaps  we  may  hear  something,  obtain 
some  clew -that  will  enable  me  to  find  the  murderers. 
At  present,  however,  let  us  banish  all  thought  of  them, 
and  think  only  of  what  we  have  yet  to  do  here." 

He  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  went  to  his  room,  leav- 
ing Mrs.  Farnsworth  to  soothe  her  by  reassuring  words, 
and  the  promise  that  she  would  come  to  her  in  En- 
gland, if  trouble  came  to  her  there. 

Eleanor  was  but  half  consoled.  She  foresaw  in  this 
resolve  of  Dane's  a  possibility  of  new  sorrows  coming 
upon  them.  The  past  was  so  full  of  them,  she  could 


l6o  DANE    WALRAVEN 

endure  no  more,  she  whispered  to  her  old  friend,  and 
burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  she  strove  to  conceal 
her  distress. 

While  she  sat  absorbed  in  anxious  speculation  an 
hour  later,  in  the  same  spot  on  the  sofa,  old  Mrs. 
Peddie  softly  opened  the  library  door  and  peered  in 
at  her  for  a  moment  with  her  cavernous  eyes,  then 
stole  as  softly  away  through  the  dim  passage,  muttering 
in  her  eerie  way — 

"Puir  bairn,  that  face  o'  her,  that  face  o'  her!  It 
is  the  face  of  one  born  to  suffer  and  bear  for  aye. 
Something  is  coming  again!" 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

THE  HONEYMOON — WALRAVEN  HOUSE 

The  marriage  of  Dane  Walraven  and  Eleanor  Bar- 
dell  was  consummated  in  Old  South  Church  during 
the  holiday  week,  in  a  quiet  manner,  no  cards  of  in- 
vitation having  been  sent  out. 

The  wedding-da}'  was  beautiful,  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom incomparably  handsome,  blessed  with  exuberant 
health,  rich  and  honored.  Surrounded  by  such  auspi- 
cious circumstances,  surely  they  had  just  reason  to 
hope  for  unalloyed  happiness  in  their  future. 

Dane  had  planned  a  European  tour  to  extend  over  a 
period  of  a  year;  and  having  no  business  as  yet  to  en- 
gross or  confine  him,  his  preparations  were  easily 
made;  so  that  by  the  time  the  monthly  steamship  be- 
tween New  York  and  Southampton  was  ready  to  leave 
the  former  port,  he  was  on  board  with  his  wife,  maid 
and  baggage,  with  no  business  to  transact  in  Boston 
other  than  to  draw  o'n  his  bankers  there  from  time  to 
time  for  money. 

The  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  at  that  period  was 
usually  both  tedious  and  dangerous,  especially  to 
south  of  England  ports.  Nothing,  however,  occurred 
on  this  one  to  mar  the  honeymoon  of  the  young  couple; 
and  on  the  first  day  of  February  the  ship  entered  the 
Solent  with  colors  fluttering,  a  marine  band  playing, 

161 


1 62  DANE    WALRAVEN 

and  a  gay  group  crowding  the  deck,  and  eager  to 
debark  upon  the  shores  of  Old  England. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  the  passengers  were 
landed,  and  the  first  night  was  therefore  spent  in 
Southampton,  at  the  comfortable  "Dolphin."  Soon 
after  breakfast  the  next  morning  the  Southwestern  rail- 
way bore  them  north,  twelve  miles — to  the  venerable 
cathedral  town  of  Winchester. 

"It  seems  as  if  we  were  going  to  a  shrine,"  said 
Eleanor,  as,  snugly  reclining  in  a  corner  of  the  warm 
coach,  she  looked  out  with  animation  at  the  changing 
and  lovely  landscape.  The  winter  was  an  exceptionally 
mild  one,  and  many  of  the  trees  still  retained  their 
green  covering. 

"It  is  a  shrine — to  me,"  replied  her  husband,  dream- 
ily, "although  my  memory  tells  me  but  little  about  it, 
of  course.  Perhaps  it  is  best,  too,  for  I  could  not 
have  any  but  unhappy  recollections.  As  it  is,  I  feel 
the  most  childish  curiosity  to  look  at  and  run  over 
every  spot  I  played  in,  and  to  sit  in  the  room  in 
which  I  was  born." 

Eleanor  regarded  him  with  glistening  eyes,  her  ten- 
der sympathy  intensified  by  the  depth  of  the  unselfish 
love  she  bore  him. 

"And  I  share  your  curiosity,"  said  she,  stealing  her 
dainty  hand  into  his,  and  giving  it  a  warm  little  press- 
ure. "Where  shall  we  stop  in  Winchester,  love?" 

"At  the  'Black  Swan,'  I  think.  There,  I  was  told, 
we  can  obtain  excellent  rooms." 

At    that  moment  a  guard  called  the  station: 

"Win-ches-ter!" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  163 

"Amen,"  responded  Dane,  heartily,  bestirring  himself 
with  as  much  liveliness  as  a  schoolboy. 

An  hour  later,  they  were  delightfully  installed  in  a 
charming  suite  at  the  hotel,  the  quaint  carving  and 
fine  old  furniture  receiving  from  Eleanor  as  close  in- 
spection as  if  she  contemplated  purchasing  everything. 

"It  is  so  un-American,"  she  explained,  flitting  from 
one  room  to  another,"  so  suggestive  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  Oh,  I  know  I  shall  be  deathly  tired  every 
night  for  a  year,  just  from  looking  at  old  things." 

"Plenty  of  time  to  get  homesick,  Tot,"  laughed  her 
husband,  who  sat  lazily  watching  her  pretty  but  un- 
conscious posings  in  her  charming  robe  de  chambre. 

"Homesick!  Not  I,  you  prosy  old  fellow.  Indeed, 
I  assure  you,  I  feel  as  though  I  was  born  here  myself." 

On  the  day  after  their  arrival,  a  large  carriage  took 
them  to  Walraven  Manor,  now  owned  by  strangers 
who  lived  in  London,  and  rarely  came  down  to  it. 
They  found  it  occupied  by  a  care-taker,  and  had  no 
difficulty  in  gaining  access,  after  stating  their  object 
and  pressing  a  fee  into  the  shriveled  hand  of  the  old 
man  who  admitted  them. 

Dane  was  very  thoughtful,  on  the  way  back  to  the 
hotel,  and  a  dozen  times  his  gaze  turned  backward, 
during  the  brief  ride  in  the  open  carriage,  to  view  the 
tall  red  chimneys  of  his  childhood's  home. 

Eleanor  had  been  excessive  in  her  demonstrations 
of  delight  at  the  beautiful  situation  of  the  manor? 
house,  surrounded  by  groves,  meadows,  and  bordered 
by  the  lovely  Itchen.  Suddenly  she  leaned  over  to 
Dane,  pulled  his  blonde  head  down  to  her  cheek  im- 


164  DANE    WALRAVEN 

pulsively,  and  put  a  question  which  surprised,  as  much 
as  it  delighted  him — 

"Why  not  live  here  always?" 

"Just  the  question  I  was  asking  you,  mentally," 
returned  he,  showing  his  pleasure  by  a  kiss  on  the 
peachy  cheek.  "But,  would  you  be  content?" 

"And  why  not,  goosey?  We  would  be  only  two  or 
three  hours  distant  from  London,  by  the  railroad. 
And  as  for  diversion,  I  should  never,  never  tire  of  this 
deliciously  historical  region  and  its  natural  beauty. 
Old  England — my  father's  native  country,  and  yours. 
Doesn't  it  sound  sweet?  Then,  we  could  visit  our 
friends  in  Boston  whenever  we  chose,  you  know." 

"You  would  soon  have  friends  here, "  observed  Dane, 
"and  in  London.  My  father  was  a  man  of  large  social 
acquaintance,  and' people  would  not  be  likely  to  leave 
us  alone,  if  we  settled  here." 

Dane  thought  seriously  over  the  matter,  and  his  de- 
termination followed  his  and  Eleanor's  predilections. 
An  offer  was  made  to  the  owner  of  the  property,  the 
purchase  effected,  and  Walraven  House  was  once 
more  a  family  possession. 

Within  two  months  afterward,  upholsterers  and  con- 
tractors had  converted  the  manor  into  as  charming  a 
country-seat  as  any  gentleman  in  the  south  of  England 
could  boast  of  enjoying.  Then  the  young  couple 
moved  into  it. 

"It  seems  exactly  like  coming  home,"  remarked 
Dane,  as  he  sat  down  to  their  first  supper  and  meal 
in  the  house. 

"Yes,"    exclaimed   Eleanor,     with    animation,  "and 


DANE    WALRAVEN  165 

everybody  about  us  who  was  old  enough  to  know 
your  father,  remembers  him  so  kindly,  and  has  given 
you  such  a  welcome." 

"That  is  the  English  way,"  replied  Dane.  "I  love  my 
race  beyond  expression ;  I  am  proud  of  my  Saxon  an- 
cestry, as  proud  of  it  as  if  I  had  performed  some  of 
the  deeds  that  gave  luster  to  their  names." 

"Well,  who  knows  but  you  may  yet  perform  some 
'prodigy  of  valor,'  and  cast  additional  credit  upon  the 
family  name.  Ah,  but  this  wonderful  old  city  of  Win- 
chester!" continued  Eleanor,  gazing  off  at  the  turrets 
of  the  cathedral,  in  whose  venerable  sanctuary  the 
upstart  Cromwell,  belying  his  Presbyterian  faith,  once 
stabled  the  horses  of  his  troopers. 

"City?"  laughed  Dane,  "a  handful  of  people — four- 
teen thousand." 

"Well,  it  is  greater  than  many  of  fifty,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand.  It  had  the  honor  of  giving  a  grave 
to  Canute,  and  to  Alfred  the  Great;  it  was  the  Saxon's 
capital,  the  capital  of  all  England,"  retorted  Eleanor 
with  all  the  fervor  of  a  school-girl. 

"Ah,  you  are  already  naturalized,  I  see.  Well,  to- 
morrow we  will  explore  the  country  hereabouts.  There 
are  tenth,  eleventh,  thirteenth,  and  seventeenth  cent- 
ury relics,  mounds,  ruins,  landmarks,  and  traditions; 
so  you  will  be  able  to  add  richly  to  your  historical 
cabinet." 

"Oh,  I  am  convinced  that  I  shall  really  bury  myself 
here,"  laughed  his  wife,  flashing  a  bright  glance  at  the 
beautiful  Itchen,  that  wound  its  glittering  coils  among 
the  distant  oaks. 


1 66  DANE    WALRAVEN 

A  quick  shudder  passed  through  her  husband's  frame 
at  the  light  words  just  uttered;  and  he  started  uneasily, 
without  in  the  least  comprehending  the  disagreeable 
feeling  they  caused  him 

Was  that  feeling  a  premonition?  Perhaps;  a  shad- 
ow was  approaching,  dark  and  terrible  of  import, 
soon  to  take  shape,  soon  to  eclipse  the  sun  that  rested 
now  so  gloriously  upon  these  two,  while  they  planned 
a  future  which  never  came! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

EUGENIE   ST.    LEGER 

"A  dainty  queanf 

With  ripe,  small  mouth,  white  teeth,  deep  eyes, 
Where  sapphires  from  Sicilian  skies 
Seem  burrowed."  — The  Conspirators, 

During  the  two  months  required  to  prepare  the 
manor  for  its  new  occupants,  the  Walravens  had  taken 
apartments  in  the  metropolis  at  the  "Clarendon,"  a 
family  hotel  in  New  Bond  Street,  then  frequented  by 
the  best  foreigners  who  wintered  in  London. 

Dane  was  soon  discovered  by  the  old  friends  and  as- 
sociates of  his  father,  and  their  cards  multiplied  rap- 
idly on  the  cabinet  in  the  reception-parlor.  They 
were  delighted  to  learn  that  the  son  of  Walter  Wai- 
raven  had  come  to  make  his  home  among  the  glades 
of  Hampshire;  and  before  the  spring  buds  were  open- 
ing in  the  gardens  of  Walraven  House,  a  round  dozen 
of  gay  people  had  promised  to  come  down  in  May — 
Dane  and  Eleanor  preceding  them  a  fortnight  or  more. 

And  this  brings  us  to  the  door  of  an  event,  the  hap- 
pening of  which  led  to  incredible  misfortune  to  the 
master  and  mistress  of  the  manor,  and  to  a  series  of 
strange  events  which  will  claim  our  attention  hence- 
forth to  the  close  of  these  chapters. 

One  morning,  in  the  latter  part  of  April,  Eleanor 
sat  in  her  cozy  dressing-room,  rapidly  glancing  over 

167 


1 68  DANE    WALRAVEN 

a  number  of  letters  brought  in  by  her  maid,  when  Dane 
appeared  at  the  open  door. 

"May  I  come  in?"  asked  he,  anticipating  the  permis- 
sion she  smilingly  gave. 

"You  are  just  in  time  to  be  entertained,"  exclaimed 
his  wife,  holding  out  to  him,  in  her  dainty  fingers, 
an  open  missive,  suspiciously  long,  and  closely  writ- 
ten in  fearfully  fine  chirography. 

"Where  is  it  from?"  asked  he,  eyeing  it,  but  with- 
out venturing  to  take  it.  He  had  a  terror,  a  nervous 
dread,  of  feminine  letters.  "From  London,  of  course," 
answered  Eleanor,  who  appeared  to  have  been  partic- 
ularly amused  at  its  contents. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Dane,  indifferently,  as  he 
lounged  into  a  seat  near  the  window. 

"Oh,  it  is  not  a  dressmaker's  list,  nor  a  description 
ot  the  Queen's  last  drawing-room,  toilets,  personages, 
and  accidents.  However,  it  is,  after  all,  from  the  same 
correspondent  who  gives  me  just  such  interesting  de- 
tails once  a  week." 

"You  don't  wish  me  to  read  it,  do  you?  Give  me 
the  postscript,  and  I  will  be  content." 

"No,  sir,  you  must  listen  to  it — unabridged.  I  wish 
to  consult  you  afterwards.  Now: 

"'My  DEAREST  ELEANOR: — I  write  in  a  perfect  fid- 
get, as  I  expect  a  visit  every  minute  from  one  of  the 
persons  about  whom  I  am  on  the  very  point  of — Gra- 
cious! 

"'Some  one  came  in  a  moment  ago,  and  I  thought 
it  was  the  very  person — but  it  wasn't. 

"'Well,  to  come  to  the  point    at  once.     I  have    two 


DANE    WALRAVEN  1 69 

of  the  most  original  acquaintances!  One  is  a  man. 
His  name  is  Reverend  Ebenezer  Doolittle,  a  parson, 
of  course;  but  he  is  from  Boston.  There!  I  know  I 
have  your  attention  now,  and  that  you  will  want  to 
hear  all  about  him.  You  shall,  dearest.  Imprimis, 
he  is  portly,  forty,  red-faced,  short-bodied  (he  wad- 
dles!) a  bibliomaniac.  He  is  (I  whisper  this)  con- 
stantly laboring  to  deceive  himself,  pretending  to  be 
full  of  sanctimony,  to  devotion  to  religion;  but  it  is  all 
cant,  all  ,$r//-devotion  —manlike,  you  know.  But,  I  as- 
sure you,  he  is  perfectly  original — in  London;  a  char- 
acter; and  you  know  characters  are  rare.  The  other, 
also  an  original,  but  not  in  the  Ebenezer  way,  is  a 
woman.  And  now,  I  will  describe  \\erfaithfully,  before 
I  say  more  of  the  object  of  this  extremely  long  letter, 
so  that  you  may  act  advisedly  in  answering  me. 

"'Well,  here  I  go: 

"'Her  name  is  Eugenie  St.  Leger.  Nothing  com- 
monplace in  that,  is  there?  She  is  five  feet  two  (de- 
licious height,  the  men  say,)  plump  and  round — a 
marvel  in  form,  with  such  wrists  and  ankles!  Her 
hands  and  feet  are  like  a  Spanish  donna's,  her  features 
are  quite  regular,  somewhat  Grecian,  her  complexion 
creamy  and  clear.  Her  black  eyes  have  a  bluish  cast, 
and  actually  bewitch  one;  her  black  hair  is  luxuriant 
and  undulating,  and  she  coils  it  artistically  over  a 
superb,  classic  head.  She  is  soft-voiced,  and  so  per- 
suasive in  her  looks,  her  manner,  her  speech.  Too 
seductive  to  be  left  alone  with  another  woman's  hus- 
band, the  women  say;  but  oh,  it's  amusing,  the  way 
mine  raves  about  her!  I  let  him.  (Take  note  of  that, 


I7O  DANE    WALRAVEN 

however.)  She  is  very  intelligent — got  her  education 
in  Paris,  which  is  a  school  for  everything.  Then,  she 
is  only  twenty-four.  She  sings;  note  that.  She  came 
from  Naples  here,  and  I  met  her  six  weeks  ago — just 
after  I  first  met  you,  you  darling.  She  married  very 
young.  Her  husband  was  a  mere  boy,  her  guardian's 
son,  who  had  consumption,  and  died  a  year  after  she 
married  him.  Accommodating,  was  he  not?  She  says 
nothing  of  herself.  But  her  bankers  are  Denby  & 
Cross,  and  some  body  or  booby  found  out  that  she  has 
a  fortune  there. 

"'Eugenie  and  I  went  off  to  Brussels  the  week  after 
I  met  you,  and  she  stayed  there  until  yesterday.  We 
have  corresponded  since  I  returned,  and  she  writes  she 
is  coming  back.  Short  acquaintance,  you  will  say;  but 
somehow  she  actually  wound  herself  into  my  affections 
— as  you  did,  dearest.  No,  not  exactly  into  my  affec- 
tions— 

"'I'm  afraid  of  her!  I  positively  am;  I  cannot  un- 
derstand her.  She  has  coiled  herself  around  the  heart 
of  every  man  she  has  met  here  in  society;  she  is  in 
society,  very  much  so.  Nobody  knows  how  she  did 
it,  but  everything  of  that  kind  happens  in  London, 
you  know. 

"'This  is  all  I  know  of  Eugenie — all  that  anybody 
knows.  It  all  seems  perfectly  satisfactory  to  the  men, 
of  course;  and  of  course  to  the  women  perfectly  unsat- 
isfactory— myself  excepted,  though  I  am  eccentrically 
indifferent  to  pedigree. 

"'And  now  for  the  explanation  of  this: 

"«I  have  reached  it  at    the  very  moment  I    hear  the 


DANE    WALRAVEM  171 

Reverend  Ebenezer  Doolittle's  nasal  voice  in  the  hall, 
inquiring  'if  I  am  ready  to  go  with  him  to  the  Found- 
ling Hospital,  in  Great  Guilford  Street.'  Heaven 
knows  what  he  wants  there. 

"'Now,  I  wish  to  bring  my  two  originals  down  with 
me,  when  I  come  on  your  kind  invitation  next  week. 
May  I?  I  assure  you  they  will  prove  decided  acquisi- 
tions to  your  company.  Consider  well,  however,  be- 
fore you  say  yes;  for,  I  repeat  that  Eugenie  is  an 
object  of  dread  to  wives,  and  of  averison  to  would- 
be's.  Still,  I  would  so  like  to  bring  her.  Au  revoir, 
dearest.'  " 

Mr.  Walraven  had  listened  amusedly  while  his  wife, 
in  an  inimitable  voice,  read  this  effusive  billet.  But 
he  made  no  comment  when  she  had  finished. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  her?"  asked  Eleanor,  mischiev- 
ously eyeing  him. 

"Oh,  let  them  come,"  replied  he  carelessly.  "Un- 
less," he  added,  tapping  the  fair  cheek  with  his  fin- 
gers, "you  think  I  am  too  susceptible  to  withstand  the 
young  widow. " 

"I'll  try  you,"  returned  his  wife.  "I  do  not  propose 
to  hide  you,  sir,  from  every  pretty  woman  who  threat- 
ens to  make  an  attempt  upon  you." 

"Every  pretty  woman!  "  exclaimed  Dane,  rallying  her, 
"you  are  already  infected, it  would  appear,since  the  pret- 
ty woman  in  the  case  seems  to  fill  the  horizon,  eh,  Tot?" 

Unconscious  prophet!  She  was  soon  to  fill  the  hori- 
zon of  both;  she  was  the  shadow  coming,  to  darken 
and  to  illumine  it.  A  paradox  was  Eugenie  St.  Leger, 
indeed! 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

THE   STUDY  OF    A   FASCINATING   WOMAN 

"  'Unconscious  grace'  in  her  were  studied  poses; 
Her  very  faults  would  have  outwitted  Moses, 
So  much  they  seemed  like  pity's  sacrifice 
To  weaker  mortals. ' '  — Fair  Felix. 

The  first  week  in  May  brought  every  one  of  the  in- 
vited guests  to  Walraven  House,  and  among  them, 
of  course,  were  Eleanor's  prolific  London  correspond- 
ent and  her  two  "originals,"  who  will  henceforth  have 
much  to  do  with  our  story,  and  should  therefore  be 
introduced  at  once. 

The  Reverend  Ebenezer  Doolittle  was  the  first  to 
cross  the  threshold  of  the  manor  after  his  chaperon, 
and  was  enthusiastic  in  his  salutations,  when  the 
courteous  host  welcomed  him. 

"And  you  are  a  Boston  boy?"  exclaimed  he,  beam- 
ingly, his  faded  blue  eyes  taking  in  the  tall  figure  of 
the  "boy"  with  evident  satisfaction. 

"An  English  boy,"  replied  Mr.  Walraven,  smilingly, 
"but  reared  in  Boston." 

"A  churchly  city,  and  a  saintly,"  observed  Ebe- 
nezer, with  a  quaint  twang  in  his  gurgling  voice,  "a 
lee-tie  ultra,  perhaps,  in  religion  during  its  colonial 
state;  but  in  such  days  the  wolf  suckled  its  cubs  in 
the  streets  of  Askalon,  and  the  gospel  was  denied  by 
the  stranger.  Your  helpmate — is  she,  also,  a — daugh- 
ter of  the  Puritan  city?" 

172 


DANE    WALRAVEN  173 

"A  native,"  replied  Walraven,  who  was  already  con- 
gratulating himself  on  this  very  odd  acquisition  to  his 
party,  "but  of  English  parentage." 

"Ah,  to  be  sure.  And  you  have  come  to  abide  in  the 
land  of  your  father  and  forefathers,  eh?  Quite  natu- 
ral, quite  so,  yes.  Are  you  of  the  Methodist  faith?" 

"Episcopalian." 

The  parson  appeared  somewhat  disappointed. 

"Ah,"  he  observed,  "then  you  will  peradventure  seek 
spiritual  life  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church  of  England?" 

Before  Mr.  Walraven  could  respond  to  this  observa- 
tion, Mrs.  St.  Leger  was  presented  to  him  by  Eleanor, 
and  to  the  latter  he  consigned  the  pious  guest,  while 
he  offered  his  arm  to  the  young  widow,  and  with  her 
entered  the  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  St.  Leger  was  all,  apparently,  that  her  chap- 
eron had  depicted;  and  yet,  prepared  though  he  cer- 
tainly had  been  by  the  elaborate  description  read  to 
him  by  his  wife,  he  started  with  surprise  when  his  eyes 
met  those  of  the  fair  stranger.  Unfathomable  eyes 
they  were,  in  which  he  read  nothing  but  mystery.  As 
she  raised  them,  their  glances  rested  briefly  and  moved 
slowly,  with  a  strange  quietness  in  their  transient 
gaze;  yet  those  dark  and  quiet  glances  left  a  subtle 
influence  wherever  they  dwelt.  Her  elegant  figure, 
richly  though  somberly  dressed,  was  the  incarnation 
of  sensuous  grace  as  it  moved  slowly  on  through  the 
long  drawing-room  with  an  undulating  motion,  which 
in  itself  was  a  fascination.  Her  rather  languid  voice, 
never  raised  above  a  confidential  tone,  conveyed  an 
idea  of  slumbering  power,  of  mastered  passion,  at  once 


174  DANE    \VALRAVEN 

seductive  and  impressive.  In  voice  and  feature  the 
suggestion  of  power,  hidden  but  alert,  was  something 
that  one  felt  rather  than  saw,  and  it  compelled  respect, 
while  it  excited  opposition.  The  first  evening  of  her 
arrival  sufficed  to  give  her  an  ascendancy  over  the 
mind  of  every  person  with  whom  her  own  collided. 
Ay,  collided;  for  whether  it  were  man  or  woman,  the 
first  impulse  was,  invariably,  to  resist  her;  and  yet, 
as  invariably,  did  each  one  succumb.  To  what  they 
succumbed  would  have  been  impossible  of  definition. 
When  she  was  present,  hostility  went  down  before 
her;  when  she  was  absent,  it  revived.  The  haughtiest 
dame  of  the  gentry  who  met  her  under  the  Walraven 
roof  (and  it  is  there  we  are  to  study  her)  forgot  her 
resolves,  or  abandoned  them  as  useless  after  half  an 
hour's  conversation  with  the  soft-voiced  woman  who 
moved  with  such  quiet  self-assertion,  who  appeared 
so  indifferent  to  hauteur,  to  chilling  reserve,  to  those 
oblique  glances  and  that  cold  scrutiny  with  which 
women  destroy  each  other.  The  hauteur  melted  into 
graciousness  under  the  slow  glance  of  her  mysterious 
eyes;  the  sidelong  stare  failed  under  her  own  languid 
scrutiny;  frowns  gave  way  to  conciliatory  smiles  when 
she  spoke,  so  sweet  was  the  cadence  of  her  perfectly 
modulated  voice. 

Perhaps  the  women  would  have  avoided  her  if  they 
had  dared,  or  if  they  could  have  avoided  her;  but,  in 
the  first  place,  to  have  attempted  to  ostracise  her 
would  have  been  the  sheerest  folly.  They  would  have 
found  themselves  deserted,  even  by  their  own  spouses; 
for  wherever  Eugenie  was,  wherever  the  scent  of  helio- 


DANE    WALRAVEN  175 

trope  (her  favorite  perfume,  oddly  combined  with  some- 
thing else  into  a  chemical  mystery,)  there  the  men 
gathered.  Besides,  the  women,  while  they  wished  to 
repel  her,  were  irresistibly  drawn  toward  her.  They 
submitted;  their  anger  dulled,  numbed,  by  the  inex- 
plicable charms,  the  undemonstrative  yet  compelling 
force,  which  not  one  of  them  could  define,  and  none 
could  resist. 

"Why  is  it,"  Walraven  asked  her  one  evening,  while 
they  were  roaming  about  the  park  a  little  apart  from 
the  other  guests,  as  they  frequently  managed  or  "hap- 
pened" to  be;  "why  is  it,  that  you  have  so  little  and 
yet  so  much  of  the  conqueror  about  you,  that  you 
never  seek  any  one,  yet  they — that  is,  every  one  is 
always  with  you  or  trying  to  get  into  your  presence? 
You  are  envied  by  the  women,  arid  if  you  were  ren- 
dered absolutely  helpless  at  any  moment,  they  would 
thank  heaven  for  your  downfall,  and  exult  in  your  hu- 
miliation. Still,  you  disarm  them  without  a  word,  as 
often  as  with  a  look  that  has  neither  resentment,  sur- 
prise, nor  annoyance  in  it.  What  is  the  secret  of  your 
power  over  them?  It  puzzles  me." 

Eugenie  observed  him  with  amusement  betraying 
itself  in  her  eyes,  satire  revealing  itself  in  the  corners 
of  the  sensitive  mouth.  She  motioned  him  to  sit 
down  under  one  of  the  beeches,  dropped  languidly 
into  the  settee,  and  looked  at  him  silently,  toying 
with  a  spray  of  jessamine. 

"Dare  you  answer?"  asked  Dane,  banteringly. 

"Why  are  you  curious  concerning  my  influence  with 
my  own  sex?  It  implies  that  you  are  indifferent  as  to 


176  DANE    WALRAVEN 

the  extent  of  my  influence  with  your  own,  or  that  you 
do  not  credit  me  with  having  an)*." 

"Oh,  I  am  a  student  of  human  nature, "  replied  Wai- 
raven,  cautiously.  He  had  already  become  conscious 
that  there  was  danger  in  the  very  atmosphere  that  sur- 
rounded this  woman,  and  he  thought  he  had  been  thus 
far  guarding  himself  well. 

When  the  ruler  of  a  domain  erects  a  wall  on  his 
frontier  to  prevent  incursions  into  it,  his  neighbor 
immediately  takes  notice.  "He  is  weak  at  the  core," 
will  be  his  reflection,  and  he  prepares  for  an  assault 
at  once,  or  watches  his  opportunity  to  'creep  into  the 
citadel  through  some  unguarded  way. 

Dane  Walraven  had  imkated  the  cautious  ruler, 
and  Eugenie  was  amusing  herself  by  counting  the  very 
large  chinks  in  his  wall! 

Presently  she  uttered  a  faint  sound — a  ripple  of  mer- 
riment which  flowed  from  her  full  throat  like  that 
which  a  lute-string  gives  forth  when  vibrated  by  a 
passing  wind-breath.  She  never  laughed  loudly,  or 
"heartily,"  but  her  dulcet  semitones  were  much  more 
expressive,  and  they  touched  the  ear  with  an  exquisite 
sound,  which  lingered  there  long  afterwards. 

"You  are  a  student  of  human  nature;  how  interest- 
ing!" she  said,  after  a  demure  silence.  "I  presume 
you  are  quite  familiar  with — yourself,  for  instance?" 

"I  fear  not,"  he  confessed,  showing  her  another 
passage  through  his  wall  as  he  proceeded;  "of  late,  I 
have  found  the  study  of  others  more  interesting. " 

"Yes?  But,  now  do  you  really  think  much  progress 
can  be  made  in  the  study  of  other  people  before  know- 
ing much  about  one's  self?" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  177 

"Possibly  not,"  replied  he,  disconcerted. 

"Certainly  not,"  declared  Eugenie.  "And  now  I 
will  answer  your  question:  1  know  myself." 

If  Dane  Walraven  had  known  himself  as  well,  he 
would  have  fled  that  night  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
earth! 


CHAPTER  XXX 

REV.    EBENEZER  MEETS   THE  ENEMY 

"A  man  of  %veight,  quite  fourteen  stone,  at  least; 
Shaven,  and  decent  clad;  in  short,  a  priest; 
A  sort  of  Friar  Tuck  in  disposition, 
Who  oft  declared  red  war  was  his  true  mission." 

— Fair  Felix. 

The  Reverend  Ebenezer  Doolittle  was  an  unconscious 
hypocrite — made  such  by  his  domestic  training.  He 
was  the  son  of  a  Presbyterian  deacon  who  had  held 
iron  rule  over  his  family  by  way  of  putting  into  prac- 
tice his  orthodox  opinions  He  had  taught  Ebenezer 
all  the  outward  signs  and  observances  of  religion,  with- 
out inculcating  its  principles;  and  the  latter  had, 
from  sheer  habit,  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
austere  father.  By  the  time  he  had  reached  manhood 
he  was  a  fanatical  biblicist,  a  Methodist  deacon,  and 
in  his  own  opinion  a  devotee.  The  faith  of  his  father, 
severe  as  its  ritual  was,  not  permitting  him  sufficient 
latitude  for  his  pharisaical  manifestations,  he  had  for- 
saken it  for  Methodism  soon  after  the  paternal  yoke 
had  been  lifted  from  him;  and  now  at  forty  he  was  a 
self-styled  evangelist,  conversing  almost  wholly  in 
Bible  phraseology — it  being  his  chosen  duty  and  ap- 
pointed task,  he  said,  to  make  the  Bible  a  household 
word  among  the  heathen  and  the  worldly-minded. 

One  bright  morning,  soon  after  his  appearance  at 

178 


DANE    WALRAVEN  179 

Walraven  House,  the  reverend  gentleman  went  forth 
for  a  stroll  by  himself  through  the  ancient  town. 
He  had  been  told  at  breakfast  by  his  host,  that  the 
barracks  of  the  troop  quartered  in  Winchester  were  in- 
side the  palace  walls  begun  by  Charles  II,  and  never 
completed,  and  he  desired  to  see  with  his  own  eyes 
the  profanation  of  the  royal  edifice,  intending  to  use 
the  "material"  in  his  contemplated  sermon  for  travel- 
ing laymen,  entitled — "How  are  the  mighty  fallen! 

Filled  with  the  great  theme,  he  waddled  along  the 
street  with  an  accession  of  dignity  which  attracted  to- 
ward him  more  than  one  glance  of  curiosity,  if  not  of 
reverence,  until  he  suddenly  perceived  at  some  dis- 
tance in  front  of  him,  a  number  of  rough-looking  men 
engaged  in  an  incipient  riot. 

Instantly,  the  evangelistic  tendency    asserted  itself. 

He  hastened  forward  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  and 
corpulent  body  would  permit,  exclaiming  loudly,  as  he 
approached  the  scene: 

"Why  do  the  heathen  rage,  and  the  people  imagine 
a  vain  thing?" 

Not  the  slightest  attention  was  paid  to  this  majestic 
if  unusual  inquiry  by  the  belligerents  who  were  warm- 
ing for  closer  work,  and  the  evangelist  came  nearer, 
with  an  offended  look  in  his  rosy  face,  and  shouted: 
>:Flee  from  the  wrath!" 

A  loud  and  mocking  laugh  from  his  immediate  rear 
caused  him  to  turn  his  head  in  that  direction,  and  his 
faded  blue  eyes  rested  in  astonishment  upon  a  young 
girl  on  horseback,  who  had  just  drawn  rein,  and  was 
coolly  watching  the  threatened  melee. 


l8o  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Close  behind  the  young  equestrienne,  sitting  stiffly 
on  a  stout  cob,  was  an  attendant,  a  typical  flunkey  of 
a  groom,  who  was  clad  in  a  long  green  surtout,  a 
red  waistcoat  with  large  pocket  flaps,  orange-colored 
breeches,  blue  woolen  hose  drawn  very  tightly  over  a 
pair  of  enormous  calves,  and  cowhide  shoes  embel- 
lished with  huge  silver  buckles. 

The  close-cropped  head  of  this  individual  was 
adorned  with  a  crushed  tall  hat  of  white  furry  material, 
his  face — apparently  a  series  of  knots — was  extremely 
rubicund,  his  whole  appearance,  in  short,  was  exceed- 
ingly grotesque  — at  least  to  the  preacher.  His  eyes 
roved  rapidly  from  mistress  to  servant  and  back  to  her 
again,  while  his  nervous  fingers  were  twined  together 
as  though  he  was  struggling  to  keep  them  from  taking 
part  in  the  disturbance. 

Apparently,  he  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  thi 
fair  apparition,  when  a  movement  of  the  brawlers  ii 
has  direction  brought  them  dangerously  near. 

"Take  care!"  rang  out  the  girlish  voice,  as  she 
pointed  with  her  whip  at  the  scene  before  her.  A 
crowd  had  been  gathering;  and,  ere  the  evangelist 
could  retreat,  he  found  himself  involved  in  a  bewil- 
dering maze  of  people,  all  of  whom  were  vociferating 
frantically,  leaping  about  with  the  agility  of  kan- 
garoos, and  generally  manifesting  all  the  peculiarities 
and  eccentricities  of  a  mob. 

The  preacher  looked  wildly  around  at  the  encom- 
passing sea  of  frowsy  heads,  and  his  eye  sought  the 
spot  where  the.  young  horsewoman  had  a  moment  be- 
fore been,  but  she  was  no  longer  there.  Suddenly,  he 


DANE    WALRAVEN    -  l8l 

heard  her  clear  voice  rising  above  the  din,  and  caught 
a  momentary  glimpse  of  her  in  the  very  thick  of  the 
fight.  She  had  been  surrounded,  and  to  all  appear- 
ances, instead  of  being  dismayed,  enjoyed  it. 

No  attempt  was  made  to  unhorse  the  girl;  but  hos- 
tilities immediately  began  between  the  rioters  and  the 
groom,  who,  in  truth,  was  by  no  means  loath  to  en- 
gage with  them.  Briskly  sliding  from  his  cob,  he 
stood  with  his  back  against  the  imperturbable  beast, 
and  presented  two  enormous  fists  in  front  of  his  foes, 
-houting  lustily: 

"'Ere's  two  pills  fcr  the  biggest  two!" 

His  mistress  had  caught  the  bridle  of  his  horse, 
and  holding  her  loaded  riding-whip  dexterously  in  her 
other  small  gauntleted  hand,  she  flashed  a  look  of 
defiance  at  the  upturned  faces. 

"Into  'em,  Gingham!"  cried  she,  with  refreshing 
vim,  while  she  urged  her  spirited  horse  to  the  out- 
skirts of  the  struggling  throng. 

The  prospect  of  breaking  a  few  heads,  and  getting 
his  own  bruised,  was  apparently  to  Gingham's  liking; 
for  at  the  command  of  his  mistress  he  proceeded  to 
deal  out  blows  and  kicks  in  three  directions  at  once, 
and  with  astonishing  vigor  and  celerity. 

The  situation  was  not  so  much  relished  by  the 
preacher.  He  had  by  this  time  managed  to  become 
the  central  figure  in  the  melee,  in  disagreeable  proxim- 
ity to  a  score  of  dirty  fists  and  grimy  faces.  In  vain 
were  his  frantic  efforts  to  extricate  himself  from  the 
jam  which  threatened  to  deprive  him  of  his  chronically 
short  breath;  he  only  succeeded  in  bringing  down 


l82  DANE    WALRAVEN 

upon  his  own  shoulders  the  blows  intended  for  more 
fortunate  heads. 

A  mob  is  never  quite  certain  who  is  to  blame,  who 
it  is  expected  to  hit,  or  what  it  is  fighting  for;  and  this 
mob  was  as  willing  as  any  other  to  fight  anything  that 
came  in  its  way,  and  to  hit  anything  that  remained 
within  its  reach.  The  Reverend  Ebenezer  Doolittle 
was  not  only  within  its  reach  but  conspicuously  in  its 
way,  and  the  combat  began  to  center  about  him. 

But  the  excellent  man's  light  was  not  to  be  extin- 
guished by  a  vulgar  mob;  he  was  reserved  for  a  better 
fate,  that  he  might  assist  in  one  of  the  most  important 
scenes  in  this  dark  drama.  A  champion  was  near, 
coming  to  his  rescue,  as  we  shall  instantly  see. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  RESCUE. — MISS    AGNES    BLOUNT,    "A    4QER" 

Fortunately  for  Ebenezer,  the  fair  horsewoman  and 
her  servant  had  not  left  the  scene. 

On  the  contrary,  she  appeared  to  enjoy  it  immod- 
erately, and  she  still  hovered  in  the  vicinity,  waiting 
for  the  groom  to  rejoin  her.  That  individual  had 
finally  succeeded  in  doing  so,  after  some  reciprocal 
hammering,  when  her  dancing  black  eyes  suddenly  dis- 
covered the  preacher's  predicament.  With  prompt 
decision,  she  charged  to  the  rescue,  supported  by 
Gingham,  and  the  two  together  succeeded  in  dragging 
the  victim  from  the  mob's  clutches. 

Now,  the  good  man  secretly  loved  a  fight;  to  sum 
up  his  weaknesses  in  a  word,  he  was  fond  of  spicy 
people  and  things,  good  wine,  pretty  girls,  and  pugi- 
listic exhibitions. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  rioters,  he  stood  on  the  outskirts  of  the  mass  of 
legs  and  arms  that  writhed  and  twisted  like  the  ten- 
tacles of  an  octopus,  and  eagerly  watched  the  scene, 
oblivious  to  the  fact  that  his  face  was  scratched,  his 
garments  torn  and  disordered,  his  appearance  decid- 
edly apoplectic.  The  fight  was  now  progressing 
gloriously  a  few  yards  away,  but  swaying  a  little 
dangerously  again  in  his  direction. 

183 


184  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Get  back  further,  or  they'll  gobble  you  again,  part- 
ner!" called  his  fair  champion,  in  a  tone  of  kindly 
warning. 

But  here  the  Anglo-Saxon  blood  of  the  worthy  gen- 
tleman began  anew  to  assert  its  quality;  he  would  not 
budge  a  step  further. 

"Avaunt,  Beelzebub!"  came  his  war-cry  in  response. 

But  here  a  lurch  of  the  crowd  pressed  him  across 
the  street,  where,  with  admirable  strategy,  he  pounced 
upon  a  screen  for  defense. 

As  the  struggle  between  the  two  factions  became 
hotter  and  fiercer,  so  did  the  noble  excitement  of  the 
reverend  gentleman  become  more  earnest  and  demon- 
strative. His  eagle  eye  saw  an  advantage  to  be  gained 
by  the  side  nearest  him,  and  his  belligerent  soul  rose 
to  the  opportunity.  Crouching  on  all  fours  behind  a 
barrel  of  potatoes — which  but  partly  hid  his  portly 
form  from  the  combatants — he  assumed  the  authority 
of  a  general.  For  one  moment  he  bobbed  up,  with 
empurpled  face  and  flashing  eye  showing  above  his 
barricade,  and  shouted  with  sublime  fierceness: 

Hit  out  from  the  shoulder!  Scoundrels!  Cowards!" 
and  immediately  bobbed  down  again  behind  his  novel 
breast-work,  out  of  sight  and  reach,  as  he  congratu- 
lated himself,  of  the  rioters. 

But  Mr.  Doolittle  was  over-confident;  the  very  next 
instant  there  was  a  rush  toward  him,  his  barrel  was 
overturned,  and  the  dignified  follower  of  St.  John 
rolled  over  and  over  again  under  the  vulgar  feet  of 
the  mob.  He  had  received  a  stinging  blow  on  the 
nose,  as  he  went  down,  which  caused  him  to  expostu- 


DANE    WALRAVEN  185 

late  in  the  liveliest  manner,  and  to  forget  for  a  mo- 
ment the  language  of  the  prophets.  Another  of  the 
rioters  approached  him  as  he  scrambled  upon  his  legs, 
and  made  a  pass  at  him  with  a  stick. 

"A vaunt!"  shouted  the  beleagured  preacher,  dodg- 
ing the  descending  cudgel.  "Remove  thy  stroke  away 
from  me,  Armageddon!  Already  am  I  consumed  by 
the  blow  of  thy  brother's  hand!" 

This  last  expression  of  the  persecuted  evangelist  is 
overwhelming  evidence  of  his  agitation;  otherwise  he, 
the  biblical  teacher,  could  not  have  failed  recollect 
that  Armageddon — Satan — had  no  brother;  at  least  we 
hope  not. 

Again  did  the  fair  stranger  come  to  his  aid;  while 
Gingham  created  a  diversion  in  his  favor,  she  dashed 
her  horse  between  his  assailants  and  himself,  and 
urged  him  down  the  street  at  a  trot. 

hen  the  three  fugitives  had  gone  at  this  brisk 
pace  for  perhaps  a  hundred  yards,  they  were  met  by  a 
posse  of  constables  who  were  hurrying  to  the  scene  of 
the  disturbance,  and  who  stopped  them  by  extending 
their  staves  across  the  street. 

"'Ello!"  cried  the  foremost  of  the  officers,  "wot  'ave 
you  been  up  an'  doin'  of?  Come,  be  sharp,  I  say!  " 

"My  brother,"  answered  the  preacher,  straightening 
himself  with  a  movement  of  dignity  somewhat  incom- 
patible with  his  dilapidated  condition,  "we  are  fleeing 
from  the  wrath  of  the  ungodly!" 

"Shut  up,  old  penny-tract!"  cried  the  young  lady 
scornfully,  to  the  intense  amazement  of  the  whole 
party.  "Say,"  to  the  constable,  "we're  running  away 


1 86  DANE    WALRAVEN 

from  a  mob,"  she  explained  sharply,  setting  her  dia- 
mond-like eyes  upon  the  tipstaff. 

"Hoh!  you  got  mixed  in  a  row  with  un,  did  ye?" 
observed  he,  grinning  broadly. 

"Rather,"  assented  the  young  lady,  coolly,  gazing 
back.  "And— by  the  jumping  jingo,  if  there  aren't 
some  of  'em  coming  after  us!" 

"'Old  'ard!"  shouted  the  foreman,  forming  a  cordon 
of  his  men  across  the  street,  as  three  rough-looking 
fellows  came  toward  them  at  a  run.  But  their  inten- 
tions were  peaceful;  they  drew  up  in  line,  wheezing 
loudly,  and  were  seized  vigorously  by  the  tipstaves. 

"Wot  do  ye  mean,  by  breaking  the  Queen's  peace 
now?"  demanded  the  chief,  sternly. 

"Gents,"  protested  one  of  the  men,  "we  wasn't  in  it, 
an'  we  ain't  come  after  nothink  unlawful." 

"What  do  you  want,  then?"  inquired  the  young  wo- 
man, "a  sermon?" 

"Gents,"  resumed  the  man,  keeping  his  bleared  eyes 
glued  to  the  tipstaff,  "we  just  want  this  'ere  gen'P- 
man,  and  this  'ere  lady,  to  come  back  with  us  an' 
show  theirselves  to  the  cops  up  there  wot  is  a-sayin'  as 
'ow  we  killed  'em,  an'  they've  took  some  of  our  coves 
for  the  killin'." 

But  the  late  experience  of  the  preacher  had  made 
him  suspicious. 

"Don't  trust  'em,"  he  whispered  to  his  companion, 
who  seemed  inclined  to  go  back,  "they  hatch  cocka- 
trice eggs,  and  weave  the  spider's  web  !  He  that  eateth 
of  their  eggs  of  sedition,  dieth;  and  that  which  is 
crushed  breaketh  out  into  a  viper!" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  187 

'Oh,  simmer,"  interrupted  she,  disdainfully;  and 
turning  impatiently  away  from  the  stupefied  preacher, 
she  said  to  the  grinning  officer: 

"Say,  cully,  you  go  back  there  to  the  fracas,  say  that 
you've  just  met  up  with  the  young  lady,  the  lady's 
groom,  and  the  parson;  that  the  lady's  got  the  cinch 
on  life  for  a  forty  year  term,  that  her  name  is  Miss 
Agnes  Blount,  (Ag,  for  short,)  and  she  is  now  corraled 
at  the  George  Irin,  with  her  father — Mr.  Louis  Blount, 
a  California  4ger.  Tell  'em — if  they're  anxious — that 
we're  coming  to  England;  maybe  we'll  buy  a  ranche 
here.  We  are  out  from  the  wild  and  windy  west,  and 
we  may  stock  up  with  coyotes.  Don't  mention  that, 
though,  till  ye  get  a  corner  on'em,  or — if  you  do  men- 
tion it,  why  just  mention  it  to  yourself.  See  you  later, 
parson.  Come,  George  Ingham — Gingham,  for  short, 
eh?" 

With  a  condescending  smile  and  nod  all  round,  the 
singular  creature  whipped  into  a  lively  trot,  with  Ging- 
ham in  pursuit,  and  left  the  bewildered  men  to  stare 
after  her  and  disperse. 

The  Reverend  Ebenezer  made  his  way  as  expedi- 
tiously  as  his  numerous  bruises  would  permit,  back  to 
Walraven  House,  where  he  found  his  host  and  several 
guests  regaling  themselves  in  the  butler's  pantry  with 
a  cold  lunch,  after  a  morning  with  the  red  deer. 

With  an  unimpaired  appetite  he  set  to,  at  Dane's 
invitation,  and  soon  forgot,  between  the  edibles,  the 
ale,  and  the  story  of  his  adventures,  all  the  aches  they 
had  produced.  Reaching  across  the  board,  he  grasped 
a  huge  piece  of  mutton  pie  in  both  his  chubby  hands, 
and  exclaimed  with  unction: 


1 88  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"It  is  written,  that  Joseph  shall  have  two  portions," 
and  added,  mumblingly,  as  his  teeth  sank  into  the 
pastry,  "see  Ezekiel,  chapter  47." 

When  he  had  quite  exhausted  his  capacity  for  every- 
thing on  the  board,  he  gently  sighed,  leaned  comfort- 
ably back  in  his  chair,  and  murmured: 

"This  was  much  better  than  the  beginning;  and 
the  beginning  might  have  been  well,  had  not  Beelze- 
bub come  into  the  midst  of  those  children  of  evil. 
Verily,  the  tongue  is  a  little  member,  and  boasteth 
great  things.  And  behold,  how  great  a  matter  a  little 
fire  kindleth!" 

His  companions  had  stolen  out  of  the  pantry;  and 
with  this  last  reflection  spoken  at  the  empty  bottles, 
the  good  man  gently  closed  his  eyes,  and  was  soon 
nodding — nodding. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE    SHADOW   FALLS 

"  By  his  side  she  sat, 
Beating  upon  a  crimson  mat 
Her  little  foot.     Her  yellow  hair 
Like  golden  cloud-fleece  on  her  fair 
White  neck  uncoiled."  — The  Conspirators. 

May,  with  its  propitious  skies,  its  emerald  leaves 
and  scented  apple-blossoms,  was  drawing  to  a  close. 

Several  of  the  guests  who  had  come  down  to  Wai- 
raven  House  at  the  beginning  of  the  month  had  re- 
turned to  London,  among  them  the  chaperon  of  the 
two  "originals,"  one  of  whom  had  already  left  with 
Colonel  Blount  and  his  daughter,  while  the  other,  Eu- 
genie St.  Leger,  still  remained.  Other  London  friends 
had  come,  however,  and  there  yet  numbered  a  round 
dozen  guests  at  the  manor. 

Eleanor  had  impulsively  asked  Eugenie  to  stay  until 
the  end  of  the  month,  instantly  regretting  her  hospi- 
tality, and  hoping  to  hear  a  refusal.  But  the  young 
widow  was  enjoying  herself,  had  no  other  engage- 
ments, and  amiably  consented. 

"It  is  so  charming  here  and  so  quiet,"  she  said,  in 
her  low  tones,  turning  her  fathomless  eyes  toward  the 
distant  river.  She  was  standing  in  Eleanor's  dressing- 
room,  at  the  pink-draped  window,  her  arms  held 
straight  down  behind  her,  the  delicate  fingers  lightly 

189 


I gp  DANE    WALRAVEN 

clasped;  an  attitude  she  always  assumed  when  indulg- 
ing one  of  her  pensive  moods. 

"You  really  like  the  neighborhood,  -do  you  not?" 
Eleanor  asked,  glancing  uneasily  at  the  exquisite  out- 
lines of  the  figure,  over  whose  pearl-like  neck  and 
shoulders  the  pink  curtains  threw  a  delicate  rose-tint. 

"The  neighborhood?  Oh,  yes,"  returned  Eugenie, 
dreamily,  "but  Walraven  House — I  shall  remember 
the  days  I  have  spent  in  it  as  long  as  I  live." 

The  expression  of  the  voice,  even  more  than  the 
words,  was  peculiar;  there  was  a  -.vibration  of  sup- 
pressed feeling,  and  Eleanor  experienced  a  disagreea- 
ble one,  as  she  conned  the  words  over  to  herself  after- 
ward. She  attached  no  particular  significance  to  them, 
and  felt  annoyed  with  herself  because  they  persisted 
in  recurring  to  her  mind. 

The  true  significance  she  was  soon  to  learn. 

Scarcely  a  week  had  elapsed  since  Eugenie'  s  coming, 
when  Mrs.  Walraven  had  begun  to  observe  her  with  a 
disturbed  feeling,  annoying  and  persistent  in  despite 
of  her  efforts  to  banish  it.  The  beautiful  and  gifted 
Eugenie  St.  Leger,  whom  nobody  appeared  to  know, 
absorbed  her  thoughts  continually.  If  at  her  side, 
Eleanor  was  troubled,  if  absent,  she  was  restless,  and 
went  to  seek  her.  Eugenie  never  was  found  alone 
with  Dane  Walraven,  but  generally  was  nestled  in  an 
arm-chair  in  the  library,  her  ivory-like  chin  sunk  into 
the  hollow  of  the  pink  palm,  poring  over  a  copy  of 
Byron  or  Homer.  But  at  the  approach  of  her  hostess 
she  would  lay  down  her  book,  and  with  one  of  her 
slow  glances  would  exclaim  persuasively: 


DANE    WALRAVEN  IQI 

"Do  let  us  talk ;  you  never  discuss  the  men,  a  topic 
always  de  trop — with  me.1' 

And  Eleanor  always  obliged  her,  and  always  enjoyed 
such  talks;  but  they  left  her  depressed.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  fear  this  woman,  not  for  her  somber  beauty, 
but — she  said  to  herself  — "illogically,  unreasonably." 

Perhaps  this  fear  was  intuitive,  perhaps  it  proceeded 
from  "instinct,"  that  convenient  term  for  a  latent  phe- 
nomenon which  is  independent  of  t,he  will,  in  its  covert 
operation. 

But  fear  did  not  keep  these  two  women  apart,  it 
drew  them  together;  and  in  this  now  constant  com- 
panionship there  was  reason.  Both  were  intellectually 
superior  to  many  of  their  sex;  in  education  the  widow 
was  surprisingly  finished;  in  mere  physical  beauty 
both  women  were  almost  beyond  rivalry,  and  the  con- 
trast between  them  lent  piquancy  to  the  one  and  dig- 
nity to  the  other.  In  other  respects  no  comparison  was 
possible;  in  manners,  modes  of  expression,  they  were 
strikingly  dissimilar.  Both  were  women  of  strong  will; 
but  while  that  of  Eleanor  Walraven  was  apparent,  no 
one  would  have  ventured  to  measure  the  will  of  Eu- 
genie St.  Leger;  it  seemed  beyond  that. 

Every  one  was  now  preparing  to  return  to  London; 
the  guests  were  to  leave  together. 

"So  as  to  break  the  parting,"  said  one. 

"Well,"  observed.  Mr.  Walraven,  "I  have  decided 
that  there  shall  be  no  parting  at  the  doors  of  Walraven 
House." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  "can  you  pos- 
sibly desire  us  to  take  French  leave  of  you  two,  who 


IQ2  DANE    WALRAVEN 

have  provided  such  delightful  entertainment  for  a 
month?  No,  sir,  there  shall  be  a  parting,  and  a  tear-' 
ful  one." 

"But  not  here,"  returned  the  host.  "I  propose  to 
complete  the  round  of  these  'delightful  entertain- 
ments' by  an  excursion  into  the  famous  New  Forest." 

"Capital!"  was  the  general  exclamation,  and  an  im- 
mediate requisition  on  the  butler  was  made,  in  antici- 
pation. 

Forty  years  ago  this  New  Forest  was  the  frequent 
resort  of  tourists,  antiquarians,  sportsmen.  At  that 
date  it  embraced  nearly  seventy  thousand  acres  of 
noble  woodland,  in  the  midst  of  which,  however,  were 
many  clearings  and  settlements.  It  was  a  possession 
of  the  Crown,  under  the  direct  charge  of  a  Lord  War- 
den, assisted  by  a  lieutenant,  verderers,  foresters, 
keepers,  etc.,  and  was  much  better  protected  than  at 
present  against  predatory  axmen  and  relic-hunters. 
The  latter,  indeed,  were  not  then  as  numerous  as  now, 
although  the  temptations  that  awaited  these  depreda- 
tors were  quite  as  great.  The  Forest  contained  some 
of  the  most  interesting  and  valuable  ruins  to  be  found 
in  England,  some  of  them  dating  back  as  far  as  the 
tenth  century,  while  the  origin  of  others  was  lost  in 
obscurity. 

Scattered  through  its  vast  extent,  also,  were  a  num- 
ber of  villages,  the  primitive  and  simple  inhabitants 
of  which  were  supposed  to  subsist  by  wood-chopping 
and  charcoal-burning,  but  whose  real  and  secret  occu- 
pation was  smuggling.  One  of  these  villages,  the 
most  considerable,  was  Lyndhurst,  the  capital  of  the 


DANE    WALRAVEN  IQ3 

Forest,  distant  some  ten  miles  toward  the  south  from 
Southampton,  the  road  to  which  passed  midway  through 
another  quaint  village  called  Minstead.  These  two 
points  were  now  to  be  visited  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wai- 
raven  and  their  twelve  guests. 

Three  days  were  to  be  devoted  to  the  excursion,  and 
the  guests  were  to  separate  from  their  entertainers  at 
Southampton,  all  their  luggage  having  been  forwarded 
to  London  before  leaving  the  manor. 

The  party  went  down  by  the  railway  to  Southamp- 
ton, but  there  they  procured  horses,  it  having  been 
arranged  to  make  the  excursion  through  the  Forest 
on  horseback.  The  day  had  set  in  with  a  clouded  sun, 
but  one  of  the  party,  who  claimed  to  be  a  "weather 
prophets,"  promised  a  dispersion  of  the  clouds,  and  by 
eleven  o'clock  they  were  cantering  over  the  Downs. 
By  the  time  they  reached  the  border  of  the  Forest, 
however,  heavier  and  darker  clouds  appeared,  and  a 
sullen,  moaning  sound  swept  through  the  forest,  pre- 
saging a  storm. 

Several  of  the  company  stopped  their  horses  to  list- 
en, and  as  the  ominous  refrain  grew  louder,  seriously 
debated  the  question  of  going  forward  or  returning  to 
the  town. 

"Let  us  go  on,"  urged  Walraven,  "it  is  only  five 
miles  to  Minstead,  and  there  is  a  very  comfortable  inn 
there,  where  we  can  remain  for  the  night,  if  necessary. 
Yonder  comes  a  forester;  I  will  send  him  on  to  se- 
cure rooms  for  us,  to  order  a  good  fire  in  the  kitchen 
so  that  we  can  dry  our  clothing  if  the  storm  overtakes 
us." 


IQ4  DANE    WALRAVEN 

A  loutish-looking  fellow  was  running  toward  them 
at  a  gait  that  gave  excellent  promise  of  his  value  as  a 
courier,  and  Dane  immediately  hailed  him  and  offered 
him  a  half  sovereign  to  carry  his  message.  The  coin 
was  speedily  tucked  away  somewhere  in  the  green  liv- 
ery, and  in  another  moment  the  man  was  darting  at 
a  tangent  through  the  tangled  undergrowth  where  no 
horse  could  possibly  have  followed. 

The  party,  now  reassured,  rode  on,  Dane  riding  in 
front  with  Eugenie,  and  Eleanor  at  the  rear.  But  as 
the  path  became  more  difficult  and  narrow,  the  detours 
necessary  to  escape  the  drooping  branches  changed  the 
relative  positions  of  the  riders,  until  Eugenie  and  her 
escort  were  some  distance  behind  the  rest.  They  had 
paid  little  attention  to  the  approaching  storm,  and  at 
length  so  animated  had  their  conversation  become,  that 
their  pace  slackened,  their  bridle-reins  dropped  on  the 
necks  of  the  horses,  and  they  fell  far  behind,  and  were 
almost  hidden  from  their  companions  by  the  thick  fo- 
liage which  gathered  about  them. 

At  last  the  heavy  patter  of  the  rain  overhead  warned 
the  more  observant  to  hurry  their  gait,  and  some  of  the 
foremost  ones  shouted  back  to  the  others  to  ride  faster, 
an  admonition  which  every  one  but  the  two  loiterers 
heeded  at  once,  as  the  sound  of  rapidly  receding  hoofs 
now  indicated. 

Ten  minutes  afterward,  Eugenie  peered  forward  as 
they  rode  under  the  beeches,  and  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  they  have  positively  gone  on  and  left  us  here!" 

"Really!"  responded  Dane,  not  quite  knowing 
whether  to  be  annoyed  or  pleased.  "Well,  we  can  find 


DANE    WALRAVEN  I 95 

our  way  without    guides    or    guardians,"     he    added, 
laughingly. 

He  was  wrong.     They  needed  both. 


THE  HUT  IN  THE  NEW  FOREST — A  TEMPTED  HUSBAND 

Dane  and  Eugenie  were  alone  in  the  forest.  The 
thick  clouds  overhead  had  darkened  the  heavens,  and 
a  twilight  spread  through  the  leafy  coverture.  Only 
the  sighing  of  the  winds  among  the  beeches  broke 
the  stillness  which  makes  the  solitude  of  a  great  forest 
so  impressive. 

Alone! 

They  looked  into  each  others'  faces,  and  the  same 
thoughts  seemed  to  surge  through  their  brains  at  the 
same  instant. 

Almost,  but  not  quite,  had  their  lips  pronounced  the 
same  words — but  they  forced  them  back.  Then  a  sigh, 
passionate  and  profound,  issued  from  their  troubled 
breasts.  Something,  they  knew,  was  impending  over 
them;  whether  a  rod  to  smite  or  a  hand  to  bless,  they 
dare  not  decide.  It  was  a  moment  of  destiny,  and 
they  realized  it.  Whatever  they  said  to  each  other  in 
that  solitary  wood,  in  that  isolated  spot,  would  be  ir 
revocable. 

With  the  same  impulse  moving  them,  they  started 
forward;  it  may  have  been  an  impulse  of  self-abnega- 
tion. But  that  can  never  be  known.  Fate  had  de- 
cided for  them,  the  tempest  was  its  ally,  and  their 
volition  counted  for  nothing. 

196 


DANE    WALRAVEN  IQ7 

Suddenly,  a  crashing  peal  of  thunder  and  a  purple 
lightning  flash  simultaneously  jarred  the  earth,  and 
the  surcharged  clouds  poured  upon  them  a  torrent  of 
liquid  ice. 

Eugenie's  horse  sprang  violently  aside,  as  another 
crash  shook  the  earth  under  its  feet,  and,  dashing  it- 
self against  an  extending  branch,  dropped  its  rider 
from  her  saddle,  and  plunged  on,  with  loud  neighs 
of  affright,  through  the  darkening  forest. 

Leaping  from  his  horse,  now  plunging  and  almost 
unmanageable,  and  dragging  it  forward  by  the  bridle, 
Dane  hurried  to  the  spot  where  Eugenie  lay  without 
motion  or  sound.  Her  shoulder  had  struck  the  branch, 
and  she  was  insensible.  A  pang  shot  into  Walraven's 
heart,  as  he  knelt  over  her,  and  looking  into  her 
beautiful  face  in  which  there  was  neither  color  nor  ex- 
pression, he  called  her  name  "Eugenie!"  in  a  tone 
that  would  have  made  the  white  cheek  flame,  had 
she  heard  it.  But  the  dazzling  skin  took  on  no  tint, 
the  half-open  lips,  disclosing  pearl-like  teeth,  seemed 
only  to  smile  at  him  mockingly. 

In  an  agony  of  horror  and  dread,  he  raised  her  head 
and  rested  it  upon  his  knee,  her  unkempt  hair  falling 
like  drapery  over  it.  He  took  her  lifeless  hands,  and 
forgetting  their  delicate  beauty,  in  his  terrible  fear, 
beat  them  together,  while  he  watched  the  white  lids 
which  had  closed  the  mysterious  eyes  and  refused  to 
open  under  the  warmth  of  his  breath. 

"Ah,  my  God!"  he  groaned,  chafing  the  pallid  brow, 
and  pressing  her  close  to  his  breast  with  an  indescrib- 
able tenderness,  "she  cannot,  cannot  be  dead! " 


ig8  DANE    WALRAVEN 

With  a  passionate  gesture,  he  stooped  lower,  and 
kissed  the  curved  lips,  a  moment  ago  so  mobile,  but 
now  mute  and  rigid.  Death,  indeed,  seemed  to  have 
left  its  icy  breath  upon  them,  and  their  scarlet  hue 
was  gone. 

At  the  instant  he  lifted  his  head,  a  third  and  might- 
ier peal  of  thunder,  a  sheet  of  purple  flame,  hurtled 
and  quivered  around  them;  and  Dane's  horse,  breaking 
away  with  one  wild  leap,  galloped  off  through  the 
woods,  leaving  the  two  alone  in  its  midst,  with  a  can- 
opy of  blackness  above  them. 

A  few  yards  from  where  Eugenie  lay,  Dane  per- 
ceived, by  a  prolonged  flash,  a  deserted  hut,  the 
thatched  roof  of  which  appeared  to  be  unbroken,  the 
door  of  which  had  long  since  been  carried  off.  Into 
its  one  cavernous  room,  he  bore  the  insensible  girl, 
laid  her  upon  his  coat  on  the  moldering  floor,  and 
rushed  out  into  the  storm.  Thrice  he"  made  the  circuit 
of  the  hut,  in  a  wider  and  wider  circle,  in  the  hope  of 
spying  some  habitation,  but  he  saw  absolutely  nothing, 
save  a  phalanx,  on  every  side,  of  swaying  and  groan- 
ing trees.  Only  these  dumb  giants  of  the  forest,  clos- 
ing around  him  with  their  tossing  arms  and  strange, 
wild  moan,  as  though  articulating  their  own  woes, 
while  they  were  beaten  and  torn  by  the  howling  wind. 

Drenched  and  shivering,  Dane  returned  to  the  hut, 
and  again  bent  over  the  dark  and  moveless  figure,  and 
again  seized  its  chilly  hands,  while  he  called  upon  her 
to  speak-  to  him. 

"Eugenie!  Eugenie!  Hear  me — speak  tome,  in 
God's  name! " 


DANE    WALRAVEN  IQ9 

But  never  dead  slept  better;  never  were  dead,  hands 
colder  than  those  he  pressed  to  his  bosom;  those  two 
little  hands  so  eloquent  an  hour  ago,  now  limp  and 
waxen  and  pale.  The  rounded  wrists  were  pulseless, 
the  blood  seemed  to  have  flowed  back  from  them,  and 
frozen  at  her  heart* 

Still  he  chafed  them,  the  wrists,  the  hands,  the 
face,  holding  her  close  to  his  breast. 

"Ah,  thank  God!" 

Watching  the  pale  eyelids,  he  had  seen  the  soft 
black  lashes  quiver;  and  now  a  sigh  fluttered  from  the 
pale  lips,  a  pink  tinge  stole  into  the  marble  cheeks. 

Then  the  ivory  lids  drew  back,  and  Eugenie  gazed 
into  his  face  with  a  wondering  expression  in  her  mys- 
terious eyes,  eyes  that  had  haunted  him  for  many  a 
day,  though  he  knew  not  why — until  now. 

"What  is  the  matter?"   she  asked,  faintly. 

Hurriedly,  Dane  told  her  of  her  mishap,  and  of 
their  situation.  Then  her  eyes  closed  again,  her  bosom 
trembled  against  his  breast,  but  she  said  nothing,  and 
lay  as  still  in  his  arms  as  if  dead. 

The  storm  without  had  grown  momentarily  fiercer; 
every  instant  it  seemed  to  threaten  the  frail  tenement 
as  crash  after  crash,  resounding  through  the  forest, 
shook  the  ground  beneath,  while  vivid  tongues,  as  if 
searching  for  prey,  ^darted  into  the  hut,  and  revealed 
to  the  awed  inmates  an  appalling  cavern  of  blackness 
outside,  in  which  a  hideous  carnival  was  at  its  height 
among  the  shadow)',  bending  and  crashing  trees. 

With  her  return  to  consciousness,  Eugenie  began  to 
experience  fear;  her  eyes  dilated,  and  stared  out  at  the 


200  DANE    WALRAVEN 

awful  saturnalia  as  if  fascinated;  but  she  trembled  as 
she  looked,  and  at  last,  unable  to  bear  more  of  the 
uncanny  spectacle,  she  tried  to  cover  her  face  with  her 
small  hands,  as  if  to  hide  her  eyes  from  the  lightning. 

"Oh,"  cried  the  terrified  girl,  "we  shall  be  rent  to 
pieces  here — " 

Her  voice  was  drowned  by  another  terrific  and  pro- 
longed roar,  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  turned 
toward  the  doorway,  as  if  to  fly. 

"Oh,  oh,  heaven!"  she  moaned,  and  sank  down  up- 
on her  knees. 

Dane  was  at  her  side  instantly,  and  with  one  arm 
thrown  about  her,  he  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  tried 
to  soothe  her,  while  she  shiveringly  kept  repeating: 

"We  shall  die  here!" 

"No,"  said  he,  abandoning  himself  to  the  passionate 
madness  which  had  seized  upon  his  brain,  "no,  we 
shall  not  die,  we  will  live  for  each  other,  Eugenie,  I 
swear  it— darling,  darling — " 

His  words  were  smothered,  as  he  sought  the  heart- 
shaped  mouth  with  his  hot  kisses;  and  as  she  knelt 
there  with  her  head  pressed  back,  her  white  throat 
gleaming  in  the  lightning-riven  blackness,  her  black 
hair  streaming  downward  behind  in  long  and  sinuous 
coils,  her  wondrous  eyes  shining  like  sloes,  she  looked 
the  siren,  the  terrible  and  fatal  Circe,  drawing  some 
beautiful  victim  down  to  perdition. 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  pause  in  the  storm. 
Not  a  sound,  not  the  patter  of  a  rain-drop,  but  a  sol- 
emn hush,  as  if  the  very  tempest  had  waited  for  that 
unguarded  speech,  that  mad  pledge,  and  the  whisper 


DANE    WALRAVEN  2OI 

that  came  up  from  the  scarlet  lips — for  terror  was  now 
forgotten: 

"Dane,  Dane!     My  love,  my  love!" 

Then  the  storm  resumed  its  sway,  and  darkness 
swallowed  the  hut  and  all  within  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
"TO-MORROW   HE  SHALL  BE  ALL  MINE!" 

Dripping  and  chilled,  the  Walraven  party  had 
alighted  at  the  Minstead  inn  without  observing  the  ab- 
sence of  their  host  and  Eugenie  St.  Leger.  A  huge 
kitchen  fire  awaited  them,  and  they  were  soon  busy  in 
the  effort  to  dry  their  outer  garments  before  it,  prior 
to  retiring  to  the  little  bedrooms  which  had  also  been 
provided  for  them.  Suddenly,  Eleanor  exclaimed,  in 
an  alarmed  voice: 

"Where  is  Mr.  Walraven?" 

"And  Mrs.  St.  Leger?"  inquired  another,  scanning 
the  faces  that  peered  at  each  other  through  the  ascend- 
ing steam. 

No  one  had  seen  either  of  the  absent  ones  after  the 
storm  began;  and  anxiety  deepened  into  positive  alarm, 
as  minute  after  minute  elapsed  and  they  had  not  ap- 
peared. Eleanor's  fears  became  insupportable,  as  she 
listened  to  the  wild  shrieks  of  the  wind  and  the  con- 
tinuous volleys  of  thunder  which  accompanied  the 
fiercest  lightnings,  and  she  would  have  started  out 
into  the  hurricane,  bareheaded  and  alone,  if  the  gen- 
tlemen had  not  prevented  her. 

While  she  was  debating  with  them,  a  stable-boy, 
with  a  very  scared  face,  bolted  into  the  kitchen. 

"There  be  two  beasts  with  saddles  on  'em,   a-comin' 

202 


DANE    WALRAVEN  203 

into  the  yard!"  he  stammered,  and  immediately  bolted 
out  again. 

Instantly,  every  one  was  out  in  the  storm,  following 
the  swaying  lantern  carried  by  the  boy,  its  flickering 
and  uncertain  light  revealing  a  grotesque  group,  as  they 
gathered  around  the  two  steaming  animals  that  stood 
with  heads  down,  their  noses  eagerly  poking  at  the 
stable  doors. 

"Ah,  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it!" 

Mrs.  Walraven  was  wringing  her  hands  in  a  frenzy  of 
grief,  certain  that  her  husband  had  been  killed,  struck 
by  lightning  perhaps.  Exclamations  of  dismay  echoed 
on  every  side  of  her,  and  the  gentlemen  shouted  for 
their  horses.  As  soon  as  they  were  brought  out  they 
mounted,  and  scattered  through  the  forest,  shouting 
as  they  went — 

"Dane!   Walraven!" 

But  their  voices  were  whirled  back  on  .the  wind 
and  no  sound  came  from  the  north  save  the  angry 
shrieks  of  the  blast.  The  night  rack  soon  swallowed 
them  up,  as  they  groped  onward  at  the  imminent 
risk  of  being  unhorsed  by  the  branches  that  reached 
out  into  their  paths. 

Two  of  the  searchers  reached  the  dismantled  hut  at 
the  same  moment;  and  by  the  light  of  the  flashes  the 
interior  of  the  room  showed  them  a  spectacle  which 
caused  them  involuntarily  to  shout: 

"Good  heaven,  they  are  dead!" 

Walraven  knelt  upon  the  streaming  floor,  holding 
in  his  arms  the  drooping  figure  of  Eugenie,  whose  face 
was  hidden  upon  his  shoulder  while  both  were  motion- 


204  DANE    WALRAVEN 

less  as  statues.  But  at  the  noise  outside  added  to  by 
the  others  who  had  now  ridden  up,  Walraven  lifted 
his  head,  glanced  at  the  doorway,  and  called  sternly: 

'Who  is  there?" 

But  they  had  drawn  back,  after  a  moment's  aston- 
ished glance  at  the  tableau  within,  and  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  approached  the  doorway. 

Then  they  presented  themselves  to  him;  but  in  so 
constrained  a  way  that  he  knew  intuitively  what  they 
had  seen,  and  knew  also  how  they  would  view  it. 

With  the  assistance  of  one  of  his  friends,  Dane 
placed  Eugenie  in  her  saddle,  and  the  party  at  once 
rode  on  to  Minstead  in  utter  silence. 

Meantime,  Eleanor  remained  in  the  inn,  a  prey  to 
worse  than  anxiety,  surrounded  by  the  ladies  of  her 
party,  who  secretly  shared  her  fears,  while  trying  to 
reassure  her  of  her  husband's  safety.  The  loud  rat- 
tling of  the  windows,  the  trembling  of  the  building, 
and  the  increasing  uproar  of  the  tempest  augmented 
her  terror,  until  it  became  a  difficult  task  to  prevent 
the  wife  from  rushing  out  in  a  wild  search  for  the  one 
who,  at  that  very  moment,  was  betraying  her. 

At  last,  while  they  were  huddled  together  again  in 
the  kitchen,  as  if  their  safety  lay  in  close  companion- 
ship, there  was  a  flash  of  lanterns  on  the  window- 
panes,  and  directly  came  the  sounds  of  horses'  feet, 
and  of  stable-men  welcoming  the  returned  party;  and 
then  every  one  flew  to  the  doors. 

"Dane,  Dane!     Thank  God  you  are  safe!" 

With  this  natural  and  tender  cry,  Mrs.  Walraven  had 
darted  forward  with  arms  outstretched,  as  her  husband 


DANE    WALRAVEN  2O5 

was  ushered  into  the  room.  But  the  instant  she  was 
about  to  throw  her  arms  about  his  neck  she  shrank 
back  from  him  and  stood  still,  while  she  watched 
the  half-angry,  half-contemptuous  expression  on  his 
face,  an  expression  she  had  never  seen  there  before. 
And  while  she  looked,  he  said,  almost  fiercely: 

"Don't  be  effusive;  there  is  nothing  the  matter — and 
you  should  not  indulge  in  hysterics." 

Confounded  by  this  speech,  as  strange  as  it  was 
cruel,  Eleanor  turned  her  eyes  upon  Eugenie.  The 
latter  had  quietly  crept  into  the  room,  and  was  now 
leaning  over  the  blazing  hearth,  drying  her  long  hair, 
which  glistened  with  the  rain-drops,  and  fell  down 
over  her  rounded  shoulders  in  an  elfish  fashion,  her 
eyes  glowing  strangely,  her  mouth  twitching  as  if  with 
the  effort  of  suppression,  her  wet  garments  clinging 
like  the  chiseled  drapery  of  a  statue  about  her  form. 

"She  is  a  witch!"  murmured  the  wife,  staring  at 
the  girl  with  a  new  suspicion.  Her  instinctive  fear 
of  Eugenie  had  then  a  foundation.  Alone  with  her 
husband  in  the  midst  of  that  dark  forest  for  hours — 
held  there  for  a  while  by  the  storm,  that  was  true, 
but  by  their  own  fault — they  had  been  found  together 
in  a  deserted  hut;  and  the  finders  had  avoided  looking 
at  him  since  their  return.  What  could  that  mean? 

A  heart-sickening  faintness  came  over  her;  but  her 
pride  refused  to  give  her  suspicions  even  a  name. 
She  turned  to  her  husband,  and  with  the  first  touch 
of  hauteur  she  had  ever  indulged  in  with  him,  said 
icily: 

"Our  friends  may  wish    to    go  to    their  rooms   now, 


2O6  DANE    WALRAVEN 

and  get  off  their  wet  wraps.  We  can  have  supper 
served  in  two  of  the  small  rooms  for  the  ladies,  and 
you  gentlemen  can  eat  in  the  dining-room,  where  you 
will  have  to  sleep  to  night;  the  landlord  has  provided 
cots  for  you,  and  you  will  be  quite  comfortable." 

Dane  had  been  watching  his  wife  furtively  for  the 
last  few  minutes,  and  he  saw  by  her  unusual  manner 
the  brewing  of  a  storm,  the  first  in  their  very  brief 
marital  existence.  He  dreaded  the  search  of  those 
clear  and  honest  eyes,  and  was  secretly  pleased  at  the 
arrangements  which  were  to  separate  him  for  that 
night  from  Eleanor. 

Had  he  known  at  that  moment  that  he  was  to  look 
upon  that  beautiful  face  upon  no  other  night  until  it 
had  passed  the  portals  of  a  tomb,  he  would  have  been 
less  complacent.  Perhaps  such  knowledge  would  have 
saved  him — and  her;  the  one  from  a  deadly  stroke,  the 
other  from  a  horrible  remorse. 

But  where  passion  enters,  blindness  follows;  reason 
flies  before  it,  and  conscience  lies  stifled.  In  the 
heart  of  Dane  Walraven,  at  that  crisis  in  his  life  and 
his  wife's,  passion  was  dominant,  and  there  was  room 
for  no  other  lodger. 

But  on  this  last  night,  Dane  Walraven  slumbered 
feverishly,  fitfully,  as  did  one  other  in  that  little  inn; 
but  still  another  looked  out  on  the  pallid  moonlight, 
now  faintly  veiled  by  the  parting  clouds  after  the 
storm,  and  slept  not  at  all.  She  was  thinking  of  her 
recreant  husband  who  had  succumbed  to  the  "first 
pretty  woman"  she  had  risked  with  him.  Her  lips 
curled  with  scorn,  as  she  said  this  to  herself;  but  the 
scorn  passed,  and  she  whispered  sadly : 


DANE    WALRAVEN  207 

"I  was  blind;  that  woman  has  a  terrible  gift!" 
As  for  him,  he  was  tossing  in  a  half-dream,  thinking 
not  of  her  whom  he  had  sworn  to  honor  and  protect, 
but  of  the  woman  who  lay  in  her  chamber  above,  star- 
ing up  at  the  whitened  ceiling,  at  the  red  coal  in  the 
candle,  and  murmuring  again  and  again,  as  the  fateful 
hours  rolled  back: 

"To-morrow  he    shall  be    all    mine — all    mine.     My 
love,  my  Dane!" 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  FALL  OF  DANE  WALRAVEN THE   FACE  AT  THE  CHAP- 
EL DOOR 

Before  midnight  the  storm  had  entirely  ceased,  the 
stars  had  taken  their  celestial  stations,  and  a  white 
moon  had  bared  its  face,  and  looked  down  in  a  ghostly 
fashion  upon  the  drenched  earth.  When  the  night 
had  fairly  waned,  the  morning  opened  as  smilingly  as 
if  Nature  had  not,  a  few  hours  before,  indulged  in  as 
fierce  an  outbreak  as  ever  was  fanned  by  the  Furies. 

With  dry  clothing,  considerably  rumpled,  after  a 
steaming  breakfast,  and  under  a  clear  sky,  the  excur- 
sionists started  off  toward  Lyndhurst,  fully  recovered 
from  their  last  night's  depression.  The  guests  en- 
livened the  woods  with  songs  and  laughter  and  jest, 
as  they  am.bled  on  under  the  still  dripping  canopy, 
determined  to  make  this  last  day  one  of  unbroken  en- 
joyment. 

But  this  last  day  of  pleasure  was  to  close  in  sorrow; 
its  miserable  ending  was  to  be  the  beginning  of  a 
tragedy. 

Walraven  now  rode  by  the  side  of  his  wife,  as  if  he 
would  make  amends  for  past  neglect,  or  that  her  sus- 
picions might  be  averted.  But  neither  of  them  profited 
by  this  close  proximity  which  three  months  before 
would  have  called  from  the  lips  of  each  those  expres- 

208 


DANE    WALRAVEN  2Og 

sions  of  endearment  so  precious  to  covers.  In  the 
breast  of  Eleanor,  all  feeling  appeared  to  have  died, 
her  soul  seemed  sunk  in  apathy,  and  only  her  eyes, 
restless  and  observant,  betrayed  her  thoughts.  Dane 
was  equally  taciturn,  and  rode  on  mechanically,  with- 
out attempting  a  word  of  conversation. 

The  constrained  manner  and  the  silence  of  the  pair 
finally  attracted  the  attention  of  these  about  them;  the 
men  looked  grave  and  thoughtful,  the  women  curious; 
the  former  knew,  and  the  latter  believed,  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  between  the  husband  and  wife,  and 
all  attributed  it  to  the  agency  of  Eugenie  St.  Leger. 

"The  widow  is  doing  her  work  well,"  whispered  a 
handsome  young  rider  to  her  escort,  as  she  glanced 
toward  the  couple  in  front. 

"Yes,  she  displays  a  vast  deal  of  enterprise,"  he  re- 
sponded, with  a  shrug,  as  he  remembered  the  scene 
in  the  hut.  The  gentlemen  had  promised  each  other 
to  say  nothing  of  what  they  had  seen  in  the  forest, 
and  the  ladies  were  left  entirely  to  their  own  surmises; 
but  their  imaginations  were  quite  equal  to  the  neces- 
sity and  to  the  "occasion."  The  agility  of  woman's 
fancy  is  something  superhuman;  and  the  breast  of 
every  one  of  the  fair  creatures  who  cantered  after  their 
silent  entertainers  was  in  a  state  of  tumult  over  the 
probabilities  and  the  possibilities.  By  the  time  they 
had  ridden  a  league,  the  possibilities  had  become 
probabilities  and  the  probabilities  had  become  cer- 
tainties— in  their  excited  minds  — and  they  were  im- 
patient to  get  by  themselves,  in  order  that  they  might 
exchange  and  confirm  their  amiable  suppositions  and 
conclusions. 


2IO  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Silence  at  length  settled  so  generally  over  those  im- 
mediately behind  Dane  that  he  began  to  notice  it,  and 
suspecting  its  cause,  he  tried  to  converse  with  his 
wife. 

"Our  friends  are  getting  dull  "  he  whispered,  learning 
toward  her  in  his  saddle. 

"Indeed?"  returned  she,  indifferently,  without  turn- 
ing her  head  toward  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  flushing  with  embarrassment,  "had 
we  not  better  rouse  ourselves  a  little?" 

"You  will  recover  your  own  spirits  by  seeking  more 
congenial  company,"  was  her  cool  reply. 

"Eleanor!'1  exclaimed  her  husband,  fearful  of  a 
"scene." 

But  Eleanor  kept  her  face  steadily  to  the  front,  and 
paid  him  no  further  attention.  He  tried  to  converse 
with  her,  in  a  nervous  way,  but  she  hardly  heard  him, 
and  certainly  did  not  heed  him,  for  her  answers  were 
mere  monosyllables  spoken  in  a  hard  voice,  while  he 
on  his  part  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying. 

Once,  when  he  heard  behind  him  the  low,  liquid 
laugh  of  Eugenie  St.  Leger  as  she  answered  some 
badinage,  he  started  suddenly  out  of  his  abstraction, 
and  impulsively  turned  to  look  back.  But  his  wife 
was  watching  him  with  a  scorching  fire  of  scorn  in 
her  expressive  eyes.  He  hastily  resumed  his  position 
in  the  saddle,  reddening  as  violently  as  if  she  had  de- 
tected him  in  some  flagrant  act  of  infidelity. 

"She  thinks  me  unfaithful!"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  desperateness  that  made  him  breathe  hard  and 
clutch  at  his  bridle-rein. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  211 

Her  eyes  at  last  became  unendurable  to  him,  and 
he  spurred  his  horse  forward,  leaving  her  to  put  the 
best  construction  she  could  upon  his  desertion. 

But  with  a  tumult  of  anger  and  pain  within  her,  the 
young  wife  preserved  the  most  perfect  outward  com- 
posure, and  called  after  him,  with  a  naturalness  of 
voice  which  astonished  the  rest: 

"Dane,  keep  within  sight  of  us,  unless  you  wish  to 
lose  yourself  again!" 

Understanding  the  thrust,  his  face  took  fire,  but  he 
did  not  reply. 

Walraven's  abrupt  departure  from  Eleanor's  side  af- 
forded secret  amusement  to  the  ladies,  even  while  they 
pitied  her,  with  that  singular  combination  of  cruelty 
and  compassion  characteristic  of  the  sex.  But  the 
smiles  died  out  of  their  faces  when  they  saw  their 
lieges  and  gallants  leaving  them  and  flocking  about 
Eleanor  until  she  was  surrounded,  and  bestowing  up- 
on her  an  unusual  amount  of  gallant  attention. 

Even  Eugenie  was  deserted;  but  the  chagrin  her 
companions  exhibited  was,  to  all  appearances,  not  at 
all  felt  by  her.  She  gradually  dropped  to  the  rear, 
betraying  not  the  least  embarrassment  at  her  isolation 
from  the  rest.  Her  scarlet  lips  wore  a  placid  smile 
of  contentment,  her  classic  head  was  poised  with  as 
much  stately  grace  as  if  she  had  been  attended  by  a 
score  of  plumed  cavaliers,  her  eyes  were  alight  with 
a  strange  expression  of  perfect  independence  of  sur- 
roundings. The  other  women  of  the  party,  as  they 
saw  her  unconscious  nonchalance,  never  admired  her 
more,  and  their  glances  persistently  turned  upon  her 


212  DANE    WALRAVEN 

undecipherable  face  and  lithe  and  graceful  form,  de- 
spite their  impatient  efforts  to  turn  their  thoughts  and 
eyes  elsewhere. 

"She  is  a  perfect  enigma." 

"Nothing  can  disconcert  her." 

"She  is  a  curiosity — to  me." 

Such  were  the  side  remarks  called  forth  from  the 
fair  ones  by  her  insouciance.  But  she  rode  on  with- 
out a  glance  at  them,  without  a  thought  of  them,  to 
all  appearances  engrossed  by  the  woodland  scene,  and 
by  her  own  seemingly  enviable  thoughts. 

There  was  a  general  feeling  of  relief  when  the 
hostlery  at  Lyndhurst  was  reached.  To  all  of  them 
the  ride  had  been  an  uncomfortable  one — except  in 
Eugenie's  case;  in  this  instance,  as  in  every  other, 
she  was  still  an  "original." 

When  Eleanor  alighted,  she  felt  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  much  longer  control  the  tumult  that 
agitated  her  bosom;  she  could  not  quell  it,  and  it  was 
threatening  to  overcome  her.  Still  she  tried  hard  to 
dissemble,  and  angrily  strove  to  banish  her  fear,  be- 
cause it  humiliated  her. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  Forest  capital  was  a 
quaint  and  anti-mediaeval  chapel,  part  of  a  rehabili- 
tated church  erected  in  the  thirteenth  century.  Some 
three  hundred  yards  beyond  this  ruin  was  a  cromlech, 
of  mysterious  origin,  but  supposed  to  be  Druidical, 
although  this  was  a  mooted  question.  A  controversy 
over  its  authors  at  Oxford  had  brought  savants  and 
archaeologists  to  the  vicinity,  to  see  with  their  own 
eyes  what  the  learned  doctors  had  been  disputing 
about. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  213 

These  two  curiosities  were  the  last  on  the  list  pre- 
pared by  Mr.  Walraven  for  the  delectation  of  his 
guests;  and  after  an  hour  or  two  spent  in  Lyndhiirst, 
the  excursionists  set  out  for  the  chapel  and  the  mys- 
terious fane. 

Whether  by  accident  or  preconcerted  arrangement 
we  shall  not  attempt  to  decide,  but  true  it  was  that 
the  last  to  leave  the  chapel  were  Dane  and  Mrs.  St. 
Leger. 

They  had  stopped  at  a  memorial  stone,  gravely  spec- 
ulating over  the  life  history  of  the  venerable  sleeper 
beneath  it,  until  the  rest  of  the  company  had  de- 
parted and  were  at  some  distance  from  the  chapel. 

Suddenly  they  perceived  that  they  were  alone. 

"They  have  gone  on  to  the  cromlech,"  observed 
Dane,  reflectively,  as  they  approached  the  low  outer 
entrance. 

"And  without  us,"  said  Eugenie,  musingly.  "How 
I  love  an  empty  church!  It  is  so  solemn,  so  still,  so 
peaceful." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  between  them. 
They  had  paused,  thinking.  Their  breathing  was 
disturbed,  their  bosoms  agitated  strangely.  They 
raised  their  eyes  slowly  to  each  other's,  questioningly, 
timidly,  an  indescribable  yearning  in  them.  All  in  a 
moment,  with  almost  inarticulate  cries,  they  rushed 
into  each  other's  arms — 

"Eugenie,   I  love  you!      I  love  you!  " 

And  a  smothered  response  came  from  her,  as  he 
held  her  to  his  breast — 

"Oh,  Dane,  Dane,  here  is  my  heaven!  " 


2 14  DANE    WALRAVEN 

To  have  heard  them,  to  have  seen  them,  one  would 
have  said  they  were  Italian  born,  so  passionate  their 
expressions,  their  looks,  their  embraces! 

But  only  for  a  brief  moment  did  their  ecstasy  last. 
Even  while  they  gave  themselves  up  to  it,  all  the  pas- 
sion within  them  was  frozen  by  a  cry.  A  very  waij 
of  despair  smote  their  ears,  and  sent  them  shrinking 
back  from  each  other.  Then  they  looked  toward  the 
arched  entrance,  and  saw  a  white  face,  whose  staring 
eyes  seared  into  the  brain  of  both,  peering  through  the 
shadows  at  them.  It  hovered  there  for  one  awful  mo- 
ment— then  vanished. 

"Ah,  we  are  lost!"  cried  Eugenie,  hiding  her  face 
upon  his  bosom. 

"Yes!  It  is  all  over,"  said  he,  hoarsely,  "we  must 
fly!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

"YOUR  MISTRESS   is  DEAD!" 

Walraven  House  had  no  longer  a  master.  He  had 
said  when  the  ghostly  face  disappeared  from  the  chapel 
door: 

"It  is  fate.  Now,  everything  may  go — but  you! 
Come!" 

Then  he  had  hurried  her  forth;  they  had  mounted 
their  horses  in  mad  haste,  and  had  raced,  as  if  for 
life,  to  Southampton,  boarded  a  train  standing  at  the 
station  for  the  north,  and  left  it  at  Winchester. 

Soon  there  came  a  thundering  at  the  doors  of  Wal- 
raven House,  and  the  startled  servant  who  opened  it 
started  back  from  the  white-faced  man  who  darted 
into  the  hall  and  sped  up  the  broad  stairs.  It  was  the 
master,  no  longer  lord  of  himself  nor  of  anything  save 
a  ruin,  deep,  eternal,  damnable. 

After  awhile  the  servant,  cowering  in  the  corner  of 
the  great  hall,  and  listening  to  the  shuffling  sounds 
upstairs  as  the  madman  huddled  his  clothes  and  jewels 
and  money  into  a  leathern  trunk,  saw  the  white  hand 
beckoning  him  from  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  going 
up,  with  his  knees  trembling,  and  his  honest  heart 
swelling  with  the  grief  he  dared  not  show,  the  mad- 
man said: 

215 


2l6  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Carry  this  to  the  depot,  and  hasten.  I  will  fol- 
low. " 

This  was  what  the  servant  related  to  his  mistress, 
after  her  return  alone,  and  while  she  sat  in  her  hus- 
band's dressing-room,  in  the  midst  of  a  scattered  ward- 
robe, to  hear  the  miserable  details  of  her  husband's 
flight. 

"And  the  woman?  Did  you  not  see  her  at  the  sta- 
tion?" 

Eleanor  was  painfully  calm,  but  her  face  had  the 
look  of  a  woman  whose  youth  was  past,  whose  hopes 
are  behind  her,  who  faces  the  twilight. 
.  "I  saw  her  walking  along  the  platform,"  replied  the 
man,  whose  eyes  were  blurred  with  tears.  "She  wore 
a  vail  over  her  face,  and  she  kept  away  from  Mr.  Wai- 
raven,  and  they  never  looked  at  each  other.  When 
he  got  into  a  car,  she  got  in  also,  but  not  in  the  same 
compartment.  Then  the  train  went  off  to  Lunnun." 

"And  he  said  nothing  about — his  returning?" 

"No,  my  lady,"  the  man  was  sobbing  now. 

"How  did  he  look?  How  did  he  act,  then — as  he 
got  into  the  coach?" 

"Like  one  distraught.  He  appeared  like  a  person 
going  mad." 

"Ah,  yes,  it  was  madness!" 

All  the  servants  were  dismissed  except  this  man, 
the  cook,  and  one  maid.  Walraven  House  was  closed 
to  visitors;  and  even  the  parish  minister  was  not  ad- 
mitted. Eleanor  had  dismissed  the  world  as  she  had 
her  servants,  that  world  which  had,  until  a  few  hours 
before,  been  a  realm  of  enchantment, a  garden  filled  with 


DANE   WALRAVEN  217 

flowers  of  love,  and  which  was  now — a  charnel  house. 
She  was  not  too  young  to  know  that  those  who  would 
come  to  her  now  from  this  changed  world  would  bring 
to  her  nothing  but  insolent  pity  for  a  deserted  wife; 
so  she,  wisely  or  unwisely,  buried  herself  away  from 
it,  and  from  that  day  never  a  laugh  was  heard  in  house 
or  manor,  and  never  a  song,  except  the  songs  of  the 
birds,  domiciled  in  the  branching  oaks. 

"They  build  better  than  I  did,"  she  would  murmur, 
as  she  watched  them  at  their  nests. 

Sometimes,  when  the  sun  was  setting,  she  would 
wander  along  the  lovely  but  solitary  banks  of  the 
Itchen,  clad  always  in  a  somber  gray  dress  and  hood, 
her  head  bent  forward  as  if  in  mournful  meditation, 
her  mournful  eyes  fixed  with  a  strange  regard  on  the 
grassy  path,  oblivious  of  every  one  who  passed  her, 
unconscious  that  many  a  pitying  one  who  knew  the 
sad  story  stopped  to  look  after  her  with  dimmed  eyes, 
and  a  sigh  for  the  sorrow  that  had  come  to  her.  Some- 
times she  was  seen,  while  the  day  was  waning,  seated 
at  an  upper  window,  her  wan  cheek  resting  upon  a 
thin,  white  hand  which  was  each  day  growing  more 
attenuated,  watching  without  interest,  as  she  waited 
without  hope,  her  gaze  fixed  pensively  upon  the  dis- 
tant forest,  until  in  the  failing  light  the  pale  face  and 
drooping  figure  faded  out  of  sight. 

Months  of  this  inert  sorrow  brought  her  swiftly    to- 
ward death;  and  on  a  day  when  the  rain  sobbed  among 
the  trees,  and  the  wind  moaned  like  an  afflicted  spirit 
through  the  dismal  house,  she  came  out  of  her   chain 
ber,  descended  the  great  staircase   like  some    stalking 


2l8  DANE    WALRAVEN 

ghost,  entered  the  library,  and  sat  down  at  her  hus- 
band's desk  to  write  her  farewell. 

When  she  rose  to  go  back  to  her  room,  she  held  in 
her  hand  two  sealed  packets. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  sun  was  gilding  the 
gables  of  Walraven  House,  and  putting  golden  tips  on 
the  October-tinted  leaves,  Eleanor's  maid  entered  the 
room  of  her  mistress,  and  found  her  lying  with  folded 
hands  upon  her  bed,  completely  dressed  in  a  gray  cos- 
tume, with  the  gray  hood  over  her  head  and  face;  and 
beside  her  on  a  night-stand,  the  two  sealed  packets. 
The  girl  gave  a  cry  of  terror  when  she  saw  the  hands 
so  strangely  folded,  and  the  waxen  hue  of  the  slender 
fingers,  and  the  signs  of  preparation  which  are  made 
for  but  one  guest — the  pale  horseman.  She  fled  from 
the  chill  chamber,  and  her  cry,  as  she  sped  through 
the  lawns,  and  out  into  the  sunlit  highway,  and  on  to 
the  town,  brought  a  throng  into  the  house  that  had 
never  set  foot  there  before.  Among  them  came  the 
kindly  minister,  who  had  never  felt  affronted  because 
he  was  not  received  by  the  mistress  of  the  manor,  but 
whose  passing  steps  had  been  stopped  on  the  highway 
by  the  girl,  from  whose  hysterical  cries  and  broken 
utterances  he  learned  that  his  duty  would  be  found 
there,  at  last.  But  something  else  awaited  him,  a 
message  from  the  mistress  who  lay*  in  dumb  rigidity 
in  an  upper  chamber.  The  two  packets  were  directed 
to  him;  and  when  he  opened  them  that  night  in  his 
little  study,  he  read  them  aloud  to  his  wife.  And  thus 
they  ran: 

"I  have  dressed  myself  for  the  tomb.     Let  no  change 


DANE    WALRAVEN  2IQ 

be  made,  but  lay  me  in  the  stone  vault  at  the  north 
end  of  the  manor.  And  I  charge  you,  especially,  to 
place  me  in  a  casket,  the  lid  of  which  shall  be  entirely 
glass,  thin,  and  transparent,  and  set  in  a  frame  to  pro- 
tect it.  The  casket  is  to  be  hermetically  sealed.  This 
is  my  last  and  solemn  injunction;  and  as  you  value 
peace  and  good  conscience,  fail  not." 

That  was  all,  except  her  signature,  which  the  first 
packet  contained.  The  other,  more  lengthy,  gave  a 
diary  of  the  events  of  her  life,  and  ended  with  this 
paragraph : 

"I  have  made  my  will,  and  it  is  deposited  with  Mr. 
S.  R.  V — ,  the  solicitor,  in  Winchester.  There  is  a 
legacy  to  go  to  you.  Funds  are  also  provided  for  my 
funeral  expenses  when  I  shall  be  no  more — a  moment 
that  I  impatiently  await.  There^is  also  a  provisional 
sum  mentioned  to  defray  the  expense  of  finding  my 
husband,  and  informing  him  of  the  circumstances  of 
my  death,  when  that  shall  have  occurred,  and  giving 
him  this,  my  last  command,  nay,  the  first  I  ever  laid 
upon  him:  That  he  shall  come  to  my  tomb  and  look 
upon  me,  once  only;  and  then  consign  my  body  to 
ashes. " 

The  minister  and  his  wife  sat  for  an  hour  after  read- 
ing the  gloomy  pages,  silent  and  oppressed.  Then  he 
rose,  and  said  ^solemnly,  "I  shall  carry  out  her 
wishes." 

"But,  my  dear,"  protested  his  wife,  with  an  anxious 
face,  fearing  that  he  meant  to  go  on  a  journey  in  search 
of  the  recreant,  "how  will  you  undertake  to  find  him?" 

The  brows  of  the  man  of  God  grew  dark,  as  he  an- 
swered: 


22O  '     DANE    WALRAVEN 

"I  know  where  he  is;  I  have  already  sent  for  him  to 
come  here,  if  he  ever  expects  to  see  his  insulted  and 
wronged  wife.  I  believe  he  will  come,  if  for  nothing 
else  than  to  implore  her  to  release  him,  which  in  some 
countries  could  be  done." 

"And  do  you  believe,"  asked  the  wife  indignantly, 
"that  she  would  listen  for  one  moment  to  such  a  shame- 
less proposition?" 

"Yes,  she  would  listen;  and  I  believe  she  at  least 
would  try  to  grant  it." 

The  minister  had  not  stayed  at  Walraven  House 
after  ascertaining  that  he  could  be  of  no  assistance 
there;  and  as  he  left  the  grounds  he  passed  the  grave 
and  slow-paced  physician  who  had  come  back  with 
Eleanor's  maid.  The  weeping  girl  led  the  latter  into 
the  house  and  up  to  the  chamber,  where  a  dreamless 
sleeper  lay,  with  the  two  other  servants  kneeling  at 
the  side  of  the  smooth,  white  couch,  watching  the 
marble  face  with  dumb  anguish.  The  old  practitioner 
leaned  over  the  bed  for  a  few  moments;  then  he  turned 
solemnly  toward  the  sobbing  three  who  had  served 
her  so  well  and  faithfully,  and  said: 

"My  poor  children,  your  mistress  is  dead!" 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

IN  A  SHROUD  AND  COWL  OF    GRAY — THE  WRECK  OF  A  TOMB 
— THE    PYRE 


"  Bury  me  deep,  for  I  fain  would  sleep 
Till  the  world  goes  out  in  flame."' 


—Nydia. 


Eleanor's  directions  were  strictly  followed  by  the 
conscientious  minister,  who  took  charge  of  everything 
in  accordance  with  her  implied  wish,  much  to  the  re- 
lief of  the  three  servants,  who  had  been  left  in  the 
great  house  alone,  with  no  one  to  direct  or  comfort 
them. 

Eleanor's  instructions  were  amplified,  however,  to 
the  extent  of  holding  church  services  over  her;  and 
she  was  accordingly  borne  to  the  foot  of  the  altar  in 
her  strange  robe  and  cowl  of  gray  serge,  lying  white 
and  beautiful  under  the  glass  lid  of  a  rosewood  cas- 
ket. Death,  indeed,  had  not  robbed  her  of  one  jot  of 
her  beauty,  but  rather  it  had  augmented,  spiritualized 
it;  under  that  frozen  mask  it  almost  seemed  to  those 
who  looked  down  upon  it,  as  if  a  sentient  life  was 
hid,  cognizant  of  all  that  passed  the  black-draped 
bier. 

Nearly  every  one  in  the  parish  had  heard  her  story; 
the  world  is  always  busier  over  other's  affairs  than 
over  its  own;  and  the  church  was  thronged  by  friends 
and  strangers,  who  walked  with  bowed  and  reverent 

221 


222  DANE    WALRAVEN 

heads  around  the  dais  where  lay  the  fairest  flower  of 
Hampshire,  broken,  yet  neither  faded  nor  withered. 
The  face  was  singularly  calm,  but  the  sweet  mouth 
wore  an  expression  so  pathetic,  so  profoundly  sorrow- 
ful, that  men,  as  well  as  women,  sobbed  as  they  looked 
upon  it.  The  gray-haired  old  servitor  who  had  played 
with  Dane  Walraven's  father,  and  had  been  taken 
back  to  the  manor  by  the  son,  wept  pitifully,  as  he 
passed  the  bier  for  a  final  look  at  the  shrouded  face, 
and  moaned  aloud: 

"Oh,  master,  master,  how  could  you  do  it — how 
could  you  do  it  I" 

Ah,  none  but  God  could  answer  that.  For  never 
fairer  bride  was  given  to  Death,  never  a  nobler  wife 
abandoned  by  man.  But  men  have  committed  acts  as  in- 
explicable to  themselves  as  to  others;  and  it  is  doubtful 
whether  Walraven  could  have  explained  the  impulses 
which  had  led  him  to  deal  a  blow  of  such  brutal  cruel- 
ty; which  compelled  him  to  fly  like  a  coward,  before 
the  coming  of  his  betrayed  and  trusting  wife;  which 
inspired  him  with  the  madness  of  a  guilty  passion, 
and  drove  conscience  from  his  soul.  But  such  dreams 
of  bliss  as  he  was  indulging  while  the  funeral  candles 
burned  over  that  flower-wreathed  bier,  were  to  be  of 
short  duration — as  such  dreams  ever  must  be,  because 
nothing  but  what  is  right  can  endure.  And  the  awak- 
ening! Like  the  opium-eater's  false  paradise,  his  false 
elysium  was  girdled  by  a  Golgotha,  and  when  the 
awakening  came,  he  would  find  on  the  one  side  Con- 
science, armed  with  a  whip  of  scorpions,  on  the  other 
Despair,  clutching  at  his  heart  with  its  lean  and 


PANE    WALRAVEN  223 

ghastly  fingers,  Disgrace  behind  him,  Ruin  in  his 
front! 

A  long  procession,  with  three  humble  mourners  at 
its  head,  wound  through  the  silent  grounds  of  the 
manor  to  the  shaded  vault,  which  was  to  receive  its 
second  tenant.  It  was  a  square  brick  and  stone  re- 
ceptacle, weed-encompassed,  with  three  niches,  in  one 
of  which  were  the  coffined  remains  of  Dane  Walraven's 
mother.  By  the  side  of  this,  in  the  center  niche,  the 
most  spacious  of  the  three,  the  casket  was  deposited; 
and  then  the  vault-door  was  closed  and  Eleanor  Wai- 
raven  was  left  to  the  only  sleep,  perhaps,  which  is 
painless. 

For  several  days  previous  to  Eleanor's  obsequies, 
strange  and  hollow  rumblings  had  issued  from  the 
ground  in  the  vicinity  of  Wairaven  House,  followed 
by  frequent  tremblings  of  its  foundations;  but  the  oc- 
cupants were  too  preoccupied  with  the  preparations 
for  the  last  rites,  and  too  absorbed  by  the  great  sor- 
row which  had  stricken  them  so  suddenly,  to  take  note 
of  anything  else.  But  some  terrible,  omnific  force 
was  at  work  under  the  earth,  and  it  was  soon  to  make 
itself  manifest  above  it. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  funeral,  and  after  the 
people  had  returned  to  their  homes,  the  air  began  to 
grow  stagnant  and  oppressive,  the  atmosphere  took  on 
a  dull,  yellow  cast,  and  fitful  and  brief  puffs  of  hot 
wind  stirred  the  lifeless  and  dying  foliage,  while 
the  subterranean  mutterings  and  earth-shudderings  in- 
creased rapidly  in  energy  and  continuance.  Between 
sunset  and  dusk  there  was  a  complete  cessation  of  the 


224  DANE    WALRAVEN 

phenomena;  but  Nature  was  only  gathering  her  awful 
forces  for  a  more  terrible  manifestation. 

Soon  after  dark  the  commotion  was  renewed  and 
at  nine  o'clock  there  was  an  upheaval.  The  earth 
rocked  as  if  in  the  throes  of  some  awful  agony!  From 
its  solid  depths  came  louder  mutterings  that  swelled 
into  a  roar;  a  thousand  beasts  of  the  forest  seemed 
to  unite  in  echoing  groans;  the  rocks  on  the  ridges 
were  ground  together,  and  fell  apart;  the  waters  of  the 
river  rose,  and  myriad  froth  capped  waves  rolled  in 
seething  torrents  over  the  fields  and  meadows,  while 
resounding  thunders  shook  the  heavens,  and  rever- 
berated through  the  gloomy  park.  And  then,  Nature 
became  a  mighty  grave-digger.  The  shuddering  earth 
gaped,  rent  by  the  invisible  agency  below,  and  a  hun- 
dred graves  yawned  wide,  as  if  a  human  holocaust  was 
at  hand.  A  sickening  smell  prevaded  the  moaning  air, 
trees  were  thrown  down,  the  waters  of  the  Itchen  were 
whirled  into  the  hovering  fogs  that  hugged  its  bosom, 
while  the  darkness  grew  thick,  impenetrable. 

Then  the  black  veil,  moveless  until  now,  was  sud- 
denly rent;  bursting  clouds  emptied  their  hoard  upon 
the  quaking  earth,  with  crackling  thunders  and  fiery 
darts  that  sped  like  flaming  arrows  among  the  park 
trees.  The  winds  swept  through  the  parted  air,  and 
rode  like  the  squadrons  of  Hell  through  lane  and  hol- 
low, bearing  with  them  the  cries  of  affrighted  and  fly- 
ing people,  who  fell  upon  their  faces. 

"God  have  mercy  upon  us!     It  is  doomsday!" 

But  after  that  night  of  horror  and  havoc,  the  day 
came  in  as  peacefully  as  ever  came  saint  to  a  shrine; 


DANE    WALKAVEN  225 

and  when  three  pallid  faces  looked  forth  from  the  win- 
dows of  Walraven  House,  the  air  was  still,  the  skies 
were  clear  and  smiling;  and  Nature  seemed  asleep, 
like  some  mighty  giant  tired  of  his  awful  carnival. 

A  few  hours  later,  Eleanor's  maid,  impelled  by  some 
unaccountable  fear,  crept  down  the  path  which  led  to 
the  vault  where  her  beloved  mistress  lay.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  came  back  with  flying  feet,  and  fell  at  the 
threshold,  gasping — 

"Go  to  the  vault!     It  is  a  pile  of  ruins!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

IN  LONDON — THE  HOUSE  IN  SOUTH  LAMBETH 

Dane  and  Eugenie  were  in  Londan.  They  had  come 
from  Paris  in  September,  and  were  now  domiciled  in 
a  modest  little  house  in  South  Lambeth  Road,  near 
the  approach  to  Vauxhall  Bridge;  a  queer  locality,  to 
be  sure,  but  selected  by  Walraven  for  the  very  reason 
that  South  Lambeth  district  would  be  the  last  place 
in  all  great  London  where  an  acquaintance  of  either 
of  them  would  be  met;  and  besides,  in  the  fever  and 
excitement  of  their  position,  they  preferred  isolation. 
Something  unusual  however,  is  always  happening  in 
the  life  of  every  human  being;  and  with  all  the  fore- 
thought and  prevision  of  this  self-ostracism,  the  "unex- 
pected" was  soon  to  derange  their  prudent  plans  and 
decide  the  fate  of  both. 

The  diminutive  house  in  which  they  were  domesti- 
cated, had  been  furnished  with  quiet  elegance,  and  in 
every  part  of  it  was  some  proof  of  exquisite  womanly 
taste,  refinement,  and  luxurious  fancy.  When  Eu- 
genie's lover  made  a  final  round  of  the  fairy  like  abode, 
he  turned  to  his  mistress  with  a  smile  of  admiration 
lighting  his  blue  eyes,  and  exclaimed: 

'Eugenie,  you  should  have  been  an  empress,  with 
boundless  riches  and  territory." 

"Why,  darling?" 

226 


DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Because  you  would  have  impressed  your  genius  up- 
on your  realm,  your  times,  and  your  people.  History 
would  have  borne  your  name  down  to  one  generation 
after  another  as  the  sine  qua  non  of  royalty.  You 
would  have  become  a  greater  wonder  than  Semiramis." 

"And  finally,"  said  she,  shaking  her  head  soberly, 
"having  been  such  a  marvel,  posterity  would  deny  that 
Eugenie  St.  Leger  ever  had  any  existence — as  poster- 
ity denies  the  existence  of  Semiramis,  of  Homer,  and 
other  ancient  people  who  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  be 
great  or  gifted." 

"Well,  I  at  least  am  superlatively  conscious  that  you 
do  exist, "  said  Dane,  drawing  her  passionately  to  him. 

Eugenie  nestled  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  and 
raised  her  face  toward  his  with  that  singularly  alluring 
grace  which  always  overpowered  him. 

"Do  you  see  no  one  beyond  me?"  she  whispered, 
while  her  white  arm  stole  around  his  neck  with  a  ser- 
pent-like caress. 

But  the  answer  she  expected  did  not  come.  In  an 
instant  he  had  held  her  away  from  him,  held  her  at 
arms-length,  and  was  staring  at  her — no,  over  her 
shoulder,  with  distended  eyes,  with  whitening  face. 

"What — what  is  it?"  cried  the  girl,  trembling  with 
an  indefinable  fear. 

His  eyes  wandered  back  to  her  scared  face,  a  sigh 
like  a  groan  escaped  his  lips,  which  were  parched  and 
open,  and  he  drew  her  abruptly  out  of  the  chamber 
and  into  the  little  garden  at  the  side  of  the  house. 

"Sit  down  here,"  said  he,  sinking  into  a  rustic  grape- 
vine divan. 


228  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Eugenie,  without  taking  her  eyes  from  his,  and  feel- 
ing some  nameless  dread,  slowly  seated  herself  beside 
him.  Her  hand  stole  quietly  into  his,  but  he  put  it 
gently  away,  and  folding  his  arms  over  his  chest, 
looked  gloomily  off  at  the  Thames,  whose  murky  stream 
crept  laz-ily  by,  and  thus  in  silence  they  sat  for  many 
moments,  until  Eugenie's  suspense  became  too  painful 
to  be  borne  longer. 

"Dane,"  she  whispered  again,  tremulously,  "tell  me, 
what  was  it?" 

He  turned  toward  her  with    a  deepening  pallor. 

"Did  you  see  it?"  he  asked,  in  hurried  and  eager 
tones. 

Ah,  Conscience,  how  terrible  thou  art,  when  memoiy 
becomes  thine  ally,  and  admits  thee  into  the  human 
soul!  Thou  art  then  at  once  a  minister  of  justice  and 
an  avenger  of  wrong.  The  atheist  and  the  infidel  hate 
thee,  the  libertine  curses  thee,  and  Sin  flies  from 
thee! 

"You  asked  me — if  I  saw  anything  beyond  you!  You 
asked  me  what  I  saw!  "  Dane  continued,  as  she  looked 
with  dumb  amazement  into  his  eyes.  "Now,  I  ask  you 
what  you  saw?  " 

Eugenie  began  to  comprehend — vaguely.  She 
turned  her  head,  with  a  furtive  movement,  and  glanc- 
ing over  her  shoulder  toward  the  house,  exclaimed: 

"Dane,  Dane,  you  are  unnatural,  you  are  haunted  by 
something — " 

"Hush!" 

With  a  cry,  he  had  sprung  from  the  bench  and  bent 
toward  her,  terror  depicted  in  every  lineament  of  his 


DANE    WALRAVEN  22g 

mobile  face,  astonishment  blending  with  it,  his  hand 
raised  warningly,  as  if  to  prevent  her  uttering  a  word 
it  would  kill  him  to  hear. 

Conscience  was  at  work;  it  was  raising  phantoms  to 
plague,  to  scare  him. 

"Eugenie,"  said  he,  sinking  down  again  beside  her, 
"I  must  explain  all  this  to  you;  I  can  no  longer  con- 
ceal it,  and  it  is  best  that  you  know  it  now,  even  if 
you  take  with  the  knowledge  a  part  of  the  trouble." 

"Go  on,  tell  me  all,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  watch- 
ing his  eyes  anxiously. 

"When  Eleanor  was  fifteen  years  of  age,  she  began 
to  take  an  extraordinary  interest  in  the  study  of  meta- 
physics, which  was  a  part  of  the  course  at  the  seminary 
she  attended.  Then  she  went  on  to  psychology,  and 
would  spend  hours  of  the  night  in  pouring  over  the 
most  abstruse  and  perplexing  subjects,  until  her  habits 
became  almost  ascetic.  In  a  young  girl,  this  was  a 
most  surprising  condition,  and  to  her  father  it  was  an 
alarming  one.  He  forbade  her  reading  any  more  works 
on  occultism,  theosophy,  or  psychology.  But  he  did 
not  succeed  in  eradicating  from  her  mind  the  impres- 
sions it  had  received,  nor  in  destroying  the  mysterious 
beliefs  she  entertained;  they  rather  clung  to  her  all 
the  more  tenaciously;  and  while  she  obeyed  her  father, 
she  would  constantly  talk  to  me  about  her  doctrines, 
her  beliefs,  and  finally  of  her  own  supernaturalism 

"One  evening  we  were  sitting  together  on  the  porch 
of  her  father's  house  in  Boston,  and  I  was  telling  her 
of  a  trip  I  contemplated  to  New  York.  'Ah,'  said  she, 
'that  is  delightful;  it  will  give  me  a  good  opportunity 
to  test  my  power.' 


230  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"'What  do  you  mean  by  your  power?'  I  asked,  puz- 
zled by  her  expression.  'Psychic  force,'  she  replied 
gravely.  'When  you  are  in  New  York,  stop  at  the  City 
Tavern,  where  the  Albany  and  Boston  coaches  used  to 
start  from.  Occupy  the  front  room  over  the  stage 
office;  that  was  the  room  my  mother  and  I  had  before 
she  went  to  the  school. ' 

"'And  what  will  happen  then?'  I  asked,  skeptic- 
ally. 

"'I  will  sit  out  here  on  the  porch,'  she  answered, 
impressively,  '•and  my  other  self  will  go  to  you  f 

"'How  convenient  and  inexpensive!'  I  laughed,  'and 
shall  I  see  you?' 

"'No,'  was  her  answer,  'not  at  first;  but  if  I  should 
exercise  this  power  for  a  time  it  would  grow  stronger, 
and  your  apprehension  would  become  more  and  more 
acute,  until  you  would  actually  see  an  embodiment  of 
myself;  but  you  would  from  the  very  first  feel  my 
presence.' 

"I  left  her  with  a  jest.  The  next  night  I  was  in 
New  York.  I  had  gone  to  the  City  Tavern,  an  an- 
tiquated and  not  very  comfortable  place,  to  humor  her 
caprice,  as  I  termed  it.  Well,  that  night  while  I  sat 
alone  in  my  room,  reading  an  account  of  our  Mexican 
difficulties  in  a  newspaper,  I  suddenly  found  myself 
staring  around  the  room  at  the  dingy  old  walls,  at  the 
two  little  windows,  at  the  closed  door.  Shadows 
seemed  to  be  stealing  about  the  chamber,  and  I  at 
length  became — not  conscious,  but — cognizant  of  a 
presence,  and  before  I  even  recalled  what  Eleanor  had 
promised,  my  thoughts  flew  to  her.  I  muttered  to  my- 


DANE    WALRAVEN  231 

self,  'Eleanor  is  ill — something  has  happened  to  El- 
eanor!' I  rose  up  from  my  chair,  throwing  my  paper 
on  the  floor,  and  paced  the  room.  The  stillness  was 
impressive,  the  undefined  shadows  moved  solemnly 
around  the  walls,  and  the  candles,  with  their  'death's- 
heads'  were  supremely  gloomy.  I  grew  depressed,  but 
in  the  very  midst  of  my  anxious  speculation  as  to  the 
cause  of  my  depression,  I  recollected!  Then  a  profound 
awe  took  the  place  of  all  other  feeling.  I  sat  down,  and 
for  an  hour  looked — at  an  invisible  something  which 
moved  from  place  to  place  in  the  dim  and  silent  cham- 
ber, until  at  length  I  felt  that  I  was  alone  again. 

"We  hear  and  read  of  hallucinations,  morbid  fan- 
cies, creatures  of  a  disordered  brain.  Eugenie!  From 
invisible  or  unoutlined  shadows  the  soul  or  other  pres- 
ence of  Eleanor  has  been  growing  toward  a  shape,  to- 
ward something  palpable,  ah,  God,  toward  something 
visible,  since  I  left  her!  She  said  to  me  on  the  night 
before  our  marriage: 

"'The  soul  has  the  power  among  the  few,  of  impell- 
ing itself  forth  out  of  the  body,  standing  apart  from  it, 
and  of  returning  to  it.  It  is  a  power  that  comes  to 
few,  and  to  none  except  through  severe  and  continuous 
study,  discipline,  and  self-sacrifice.' 

"To-day  I  felt  the  presence  of  Eleanor — nay,  more 
than  felt  it!  I  have — " 

What  he  would  have  revealed  we  know  not.  An 
elderly  man,  holding  in  his  hand  a  small  sachel,  stood 
before  him.  It  was  the  minister  from  Winchester. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

TO  DANE — A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  TOMB 

The  minister,  to  whom  Eleanor  had  intrusted  her 
last  message  to  her  husband,  had  left  Winchester  on 
the  night  of  the  earthquake,  which  had  not  been  felt 
north  of  the  town.  He  had  soon  passed  out  of  the 
storm,  the  wind  having  steadily  driven  down  from  the 
north;  and  he  had  therefore  known  absolutely  nothing 
of  the  havoc  created  at  Walraven  House,  when  he 
reached  London.  There  he  had  halted  only  for  a  few 
hours  waiting  for  a  train  to  Dover,  and  had  pushed 
on  to  Paris,  after  crossing  to  Calais,  without  any  in- 
telligence whatever  of  the  catastrophe. 

The  address  he  had  in  Paris  was  No. —  Rue  St.  Hon- 
ore;  but  when  he  arrived  there,  it  was  only  to  find  that 
Mr. Walraven  had  gone  to  London',  after  giving  up  the 
house  in  which  he  had  been  living  for  a  few  weeks, 
and  leaving  no  London  address  behind.  The  disap- 
pointed messenger  had  returned  to  London,  where  he 
learned,  to  his  dismay,  through  a  newspaper,  that  "the 
Walraven  vault  had  been  totally  demolished,  and  the 
inmates  buried  under  a  heap  of  ruins;  that  a  fire, 
caused  by  lightning,  had  burned  a  channel  through  the 
debris,  and  consumed  the  bodies  as  well  as  the  coffins!" 

Horrified  by  this  intelligence,  he  had  immediately 
started  home  by  the  Southwestern  railway,  which 

232 


DANE    WALRAVEN  233 

passes  along  the  east  bank  of  the  River  Thames 
through  South  Lambeth  as  far  as  the  little  depot  in 
Wandsworth  Road.  While  looking  out  of  a  coach 
window,  the  train  crossed  Lambeth  Road  within  fifty 
yards  of  the  house  where  Dane  and  Eugenie  sat,  ob- 
livious of  the  eyes  that  were  gazing  in  amazement  at 
them  from  the  car-window. 

The  minister  uttered  an  exclamation,  which  fairly 
startled  every  one  of  the  three  strangers  who  shared 
the  compartment  with  him,  and  seizing  his  bag,  hur- 
ried to  the  door,  at  the  moment  the  train  drew  up  at 
the  station,  and  sprang  from  the  car. 

When  he  stood  before  the  two  astonished  fugitives, 
neither  he  nor  they  uttered  a  word  for  a  full  half  min- 
ute. Then  Dane  rose,  and  with  his  face  scarlet  for 
the  moment,  managed  to  speak  — 

"You  have  come  here  to  see  me?" 

"Yes,  you,"  returned  the  unwelcome  apparition,  with 
terrible  sternness. 

"Will  you  sit  down,  or  come  into  the  house?"  stam- 
mered the  husband— as  he  yet  thought  himself;  for 
reading  no  newspapers,  and  voluntarily  cut  off  from 
the  world  as  much  as  his  buried  wife,  he  as  yet  knew 
nothing  of  the  fact  which  the  minister  was  about  to 
communicate  to  him  with  terrible,  merciless  direct- 
ness. 

At  the  invitation  to  enter  the  house  the  clergyman's 
own  face  flushed  darkly. 

"In  there?"  exclaimed  he,  with  half-repressed  scorn, 
"certainly  not!  " 

Touched  to  the  quick,  humiliated,  bitterly  angry, 
Dane  instantly  demanded: 


234  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Then  you  will  please  state  your  business  with  me." 

"That  I  intend  to  do,  sir." 

And  without  any  thing  or  word  to  prepare  him  for 
the  frightful  truth,  the  unhappy  man  listened  to  it; 
while  the  woman  who  had  been  the  cause  of  it  all, 
sat  crouching  in  a  corner  of  the  garden-seat,  hiding 
her  white  face,  panting  for  breath. 

The  story  at  length  was  told;  all  the  details  had  been 
given  unsparingly,  eloquently;  the  lonely  life  for  drag- 
ging months  in  the  deserted  home,  the  blight  his  hand 
had  laid  upon  her  fair  young  head,  her  sweet  and  holy 
resignation,  while  her  innocent  heart  was  breaking — 
slowly  breaking;  the  costume  in  which  she  clothed 
herself  on  the  last  day  that  rose  between  her  and 
peace,  the  peace  of  the  tomb;  her  message  to  him,  to 
come  to  the  burial-vault  where  she  lay  in  her  gray 
robe;  her  cowled  face,  with  its  mournful  lips,  looking 
upward  through  the  glass  lid  of  her  coffin  at  him—- 
him, the  murderer  of  his  wife;  of  the  tempest,  and  the 
earthquake  in  the  night  of  her  sepulture,  robbing  even 
her  tomb  of  the  pitiful  peace  she  had  sought  within 
its  icy  depths;  and,  ah,  climax  of  horror — of  the 
lightning's  torches  hurled  among  the  ruins,  the  kindltd 
pyre,  her  fair  body  consumed  by  the  creeping  flames!  — 

God!  What  horrors  were  these?  Who  was  this  tow- 
ering Nemesis  who  stood  over  him,  with  his  gray  hair 
uncovered  and  streaming  in  the  dank  twilight  air, 
whose  shaking  hand,  now  flung  aloft,  now  stretched 
forth,  seemed  to  fling  upon  him  denunciations,  to  drop 
upon  it  curses  which  only  his  holy  calling  forbade 
him  uttering? 


DANE    WALRAVEN  235 

Thrice  the  stricken  husband  held  up  his  own  trem- 
bling hand  and  groaned  in  agony: 

"No  more,  no  more,  in  mercy  cease!" 

But  the  clergyman  was  for  that  terrible  moment  a 
man — and  nothing  more: — 

f" You  appeal  in  the  name  of  mercy!"  he  thundered, 
his  sunken  eyes  darting  their  withering  lights  upon 
the  cowering  figure;  "well,  take  such  mercy  as  you 
gave — but  take  it  from  the  God  you  have  offended! 
In  me  you  see  only  the  messenger  of  your  dead  wife, 
of  the  woman  who  trusted  you,  who  followed  you 
across  the  sea  without  fear  and  without  doubt  that  you 
would  shield  her  from  ill,  that  your  arm  would  protect 
her,  that  your  love  would  comfort  her,  the  orphan,  the 
wife,  even  in  a  strange  land!  Yet  it  was  you  who  de- 
serted her,  it  was  you  who  delivered  her  up  to  dis- 
grace and  death,  it  was  you  who  lured  her  from  her 
father's  tomb  in  her  own  land  to  her  own  tomb  in  a 
foreign  one,  whose  'love'  was  as  evanescent  as  a  sun- 
beam, you  who — killed  her!  Oh,  man,  man,  how 
could  you! ". 

And  then  the  old  man  strode  from  the  garden  with- 
out one  backward  glance;  deaf  to  the  frightful  cry  as 
the  reeling  form  fell  headlong  upon  the  turf  behind 
him,  to  the  woman's  shriek  that  followed  that  fall  of 
her  guilty  idol,  deaf  to  the  pitiful  sounds  that  pursued 
him. 

The  messenger  of  the  dead  had  done  his  work;  and 
as  he  passed  on  toward  the  river,  the  night  descended 
suddenly,  and  hid  under  its  sable  garments  a  scene  of 
woe,  of  despair,  at  once  unspeakable,  horrible. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  PARTING  OF  DANE  AND  EUGENIE 

"I  only  know  that  now  I  crave 
The  silence  that  protects  the  grave, 
Its  solitude,  its  holy  peace; 
Within  that  sanctuary  cease 
All  conflicts  born  of — Conscience." 

—  The  Conspirators, 

"Dane,  do  you  feel  sure  that  it  is  not  remorse  prey- 
ing upon  you?  You  are  not  naturally  superstitious, 
and  you  cannot  believe  that  the  dead  return!  Believe 
me,  it  is  remorse,  Dane.  I  know  it — I  feel  it  myself, 
terrible,  poignant,  awful  remorse." 

"What?     You  regret?" 

"Yes — ah,  God,  if  I  had  never  met  you!" 

The  round  white  arms  were  flung  upon  the  table  in 
front  of  her,  the  white  face  was  pressed  upon  them, 
and  sobs  convulsed  the  white  throat. 

"Eugenie!" 

There  was  no  passion,  no  love,  breathed  in  the  word, 
nothing  but  mournful  compassion. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  her  look  was  that  of  a  wo- 
man without  hope,  but  whose  awful  misery  was  an 
expiation.  His  face  was  a  reflection  of  hers;  on  the 
features  of  both  was  the  stamp  of  an  intolerable  grief. 
Some  goodness,  I  verily  believe,  lies  embedded  in 
the  worst  or  meanest  human  heart,  only  waiting  for 
the  sun  of  charity  and  kindness  to  smile  upon  the  un- 

236 


DANE    WALRAVEN  237 

inviting  soil,  to  spring  forth  and   bloom    all  the  more 
beautiful  because  all  around  is  barren. 

In  the  heart  of  this  woman  there  was  a  germ  of 
goodness.  It  was  struggling  up  to  the  light,  it  was 
about  to  bloom  into  an  act  of  heroism;  she  was  about 
to  offer  up  to  duty  a  sacrifice,  an  atonement  to  the 
dead,  reparation  to  the  living.  A  terrible  struggle 
silently  waged  between  her  superhuman  will  and  her 
unconquerable  love — for  she  loved  this  man  almost  to 
madness — had  ended  in  the  determination  to  make  this 
heroic  sacrifice  of — herself.  The  moment  was  at  hand, 
the  hour  of  atonement  had  come,  and  Duty,  that  inex- 
orable guide  for  whom  the  only  beacon  is  Justice,  was 
leading  her  at  the  eleventh  hour. 

We,  who  know  that  in  the  awful  breach,  where 
wounds,  and  death,  and  the  slow  pain  of  dying  under 
the  pitiless  steel  may  end  the  charge,  see  glory  beyond 
the  sacrifice,  the  praise  of  men,  the  reward  of  bravery. 
But,  to  yield  up  all  that  is  left  of  life,  and  go  down 
into  eternal  night  without  honor,  stabbed  by  the 
world's  sole  comment — "She  could  do  no  less!" 

The  greatest  sacrifices,  the  most  sublime  heroism, 
the  fondest  devotion,  the  noblest  fortitude  throughout 
all  human  history  must  be  accredited  to  woman. 

To  Eugenie  St.  Leger-,  the  sacricfie  she  was  making 
involved  everything  except  life — in  itself worth  nothing 
to  any  one  possessing  a  soul. 

The  story  told  them  by  the  minister  had  left  Dane 
for  hours  in  a  condition  of  stupor,  after  the  paroxysm 
in  the  garden,  and  he  had  been  carried  into  the  house 
by  some  passing  boatmen,  and  laid  in  an  unconscious 


238  DANE    WALRAVEN 

state  upon  his  bed.  Eugenie,  the  only  intelligent 
witness  of  his  agony,  had  suffered  almost  as  much  as 
he,  but  the  anguish  she  felt  was  for  him;  and  when 
that  night  she  knelt  at  the  side  of  his  couch  where  he 
lay  moaning  in  intermittent  delirium,  she  cried  out 
in  the  bitterness  of  repentance: 

"Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  what  have  I  done  to  you!" 
The  next  morning  he  was  calmer,  but  numbed  by 
the  appalling  misery  at  his  heart.  He  ate  no  break- 
fast, but  walked  his  room  incessantly  during  the  entire 
day,  except  when  at  intervals  exhaustion  forced  him 
to  fling  himself  upon  his  face,  only  to  start  up  again 
with  a  groan,  and  resume  the  monotonous  tread  back 
and  forth.  When  the  night  came,  Eugenie  succeeded 
in  coaxing  him  downstairs  and  into  the  dining-room, 
where  he  mechanically  drank  some  tea,  and  chewed  bits 
of  dried  bread,  the  first  food  that  had  passed  his  lips 
since  the  previous  day  at  dinner.  She  herself  had 
neglected  to  eat  until  she  tottered  from  faintness;  her 
strong  will  had  borne  her  up,  and  her  mind  had  been 
busy  during  the  long  night,  and  through  the  miserable 
hours  that  followed  it,  in  determining  her  own  course. 
For  she  felt  now  an  intolerable  anger  against  herself, 
and  a  feverish,  almost  a  fierce  eagerness  to  sacrifice 
herself  for  him — the  only  one  of  earth's  children  for 
whom  she  cared  a  jot.  She  must  go  away  from  him, 
or  he  from  her,  and  the  parting  must  be  soon.  She 
would  have  stolen  away  from  the  house  and  left  him 
without  a  word  of  farewell,  terrible  as  that  would  have 
been  to  her  feelings;  but  he  was  prostrated,  bewildered 
by  his  shock,  and  it  would  not  have  been  safe  to  leave 


DANE    WALRAVEN  339 

him.  When  the  evening  came,  however,  she  deter- 
mined to  inform  him  of  her  purpose,  and  she  had 
drawn  him  into  the  small  parlor  where  no  one  would 
intrude  upon  them,  or  witness  the  agony  she  knew 
would  betray  itself  in  her  face,  at  least. 

It  was  here,  seated  at  a  table  on  which  were  a  few 
favorite  books,  that  she  had  begun  the  hard  task  she 
had  set  herself. 

Dane's  exclamation  had  relieved  her  of  the  dread  she 
had  felt  of  his  anger — for  she  expected  him  to  be  an- 
gry; forgetting  that  for  the  time  being>  at  least,  he 
also  was  without  hope,  that  the  shock  w'hich  had  made 
her  sensibilities  more  acute  had  dulled  his. 

She  looked  long  into  his  face  before  she  spoke 
again,  and  the  haggard  features,  the  mournful  eyes 
would  have  strengthened  her  resolution,  had  she 
thought  of  wavering. 

i  "Dane,"  she  began,  clinching  her  hands  together  in 
the  folds  of  her  dress,  where  he  could  not  see  them, 
"it  is  remorse  which  is  haunting  you,  not  a  phantom; 
it  is  the  same  terrible  regret  weighing  upon  your 
spirit  as  upon  mine;  and  we  can  find  relief  but  in  one 
way. " 

"Ah,  Eugenie,  is  there  a  way?" 

The  question  was  asked  apathetically;  he  had  no 
hope,  he  expected  no  help. 

"There  is  but  one,"  she  answered,  her  voice  harden- 
ing in  the  struggle  within  her.  "We  must  part." 

"Part?"  he  repeated,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  her  face, 
which  was  pallid,  but  emotionless. 

"It  is  now  seven  o'clock.  At  nine  I  shall  depart 
from  here — forever." 


240  DANE    WALRAVEN 

She  was  speaking  slowly,  in  a  hard  monotone,  and 
he  would  have  said,  with  cold  deliberation,  had  he 
been  capable  at  the  moment  of  reflection. 

"You  wish  to  leave  me?"  he  queried,  wonderirigly. 

"I  must  leave  you;  it  is  decided." 

"And  where  would  you  go?" 

"To  Paris." 

He  started,  and  looked  at  her  with  sudden  earnest- 
ness. 

"And  why  do  you  go  there?" 

"To  enter  a  convent,"  she  answered,  in  the  same 
hard  monotone. 

"A  convent!"  he  exclaimed,  catching  his  breath,  as 
if  it  were  leaving  him.  "Horrible!" 

"It  is  decided.  A  little  while  there,  and  then — 
Montparnasse. " 

"Oh,  God,"  he  moaned,  his  head  sinking  upon  his 
breast,  "is  there  nothing  left  but  that!" 

"Nothing — for  me.     For  you — " 

She  did  not  finish  the  thought,  but  looked  at  him 
pensively,  her  face  softening,  her  undiminished  beauty 
hallowed  by  that  look  which  is  seen  upon  the  human 
face"  so  seldom,  and  only  at  the  moment  of  self-abne- 
gation unconditional,  terrible,  absolute. 

For  a  time,  there  was  no  word  spoken  by  either  of 
them.  Profound  dejection  showed  in  every  line  of  the 
man's  face,  in  every  angle  of  his  body,  in  his  restless 
and  .wandering  glances.  The  pathos  of  a  sublime 
resignation,  the  composure  born  of  utter  hopelessness, 
the  shadow  of  a  grief  too  profound  for  arty  human  ex- 
pression, but  over  all — the  illumination  of  a  soul  re- 


DANE    WALRAVEN  24! 

deeming  itself  by  one  mighty  sacrifice,  that  another 
soul  might  not  be  lost — shone  out  through  the  deep- 
ening shadows  from  the  still,  white  face  of  the  woman. 

"Only  one  more  hour,"  she  said,  at  last,  speaking 
softly. 

Dane  raised  his  head  with  a  restless  movement.  "It 
is  a  very  short  time,"  said  he,  broodingly. 

"It  is  frightfully  brief,  and  it  is  still  too  long!"  she 
returned,  solemnly;  but  he  did  not  understand.  He 
was  wondering  what  he  should  do  after  she  had  left 
him.  But  she  had  decided  for  him. 

"Dane,"  she  said,  "you  must  take  a  journey;  a  quiet 
voyage  on  the  Mediterranean,  where  there  will  be  entire 
change  from  your  old  life,  nothing  to  remind  you  of 
anything  in  the  past — which  you  must  strive  to  forget. 
You  have  grown  excessively  morbid,  your  mind  is  prey- 
ing upon  your  body,  and  will  destroy  both,  if  you  con- 
tinue to  indulge  these  moods  much  longer.  Promise 
me  you  will  do  this  at  once." 

"I  will — to  please  you,"  he  answered,  apathetically. 

"You  will,  because  it  is  your  duty  to  do  it, "  returned 
Eugenie,  firmly.  "Find  peace,  and  you  will  regain 
hope." 

He  shook  his  head.  Hopeless,  he  said  nothing, 
offered  no  argument  for  himself  or  her,  made  no  pro- 
test against  her  going,  because  he  knew  it  was  right 
she  should  go,  that  they  must  see  each  other  never 
again,  if  they  valued  anything  beyond  life.  They  had 
sat  in  judgment  on  themselves,  and  had  not  spared; 
and  the  decree  was— expiation. 

"It  is  nearly  time  for  me  to    go,    Dane,"    said    Eu- 


242  .  DANE    AVALRAVEN 

genie,  after  another  long  silence,  "you  will  go  with  me 
to  the  station?" 

"Of  course,"  he  answered,  nervously. 

"And  to-morrow  you  will  dispose  of  the  house  and 
everything  in  it,  to  a  dealer?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  must  not  sleep  here  again,  you  must  go 
to  some  hotel  in  the  city  to-night,  and  take  an  apart- 
ment for  the  time  you  remain.  And  now,  I  want  you 
to  go  direct  to  Genoa — where  you  so  much  desired  to 
.go  when  you  were  first  in  Europe.  There  can  be  noth- 
ing there  to  remind  you  of  any  later  circumstances. 
And  while  you  are  there,  you  will  receive  one  and  but 
one  letter  from  me,  which  you  will  read  alone.  Look 
for  it,  it  will  reconcile  you  to  our  parting,"  she  con- 
cluded, with  a  momentary  tone  of  bitterness.  "That 
is  all — except  our  parting,  and  that  will  be  at  the  sta- 
tion, in  public.  Are  you  ready?" 

"Yes-'-yes, "  he  murmured,  as  if  groping. 

"Come,  then." 

And  together  for  the  last  time,  they  went  out  into 
the  night. 


CHAPTER    XLI 

THE   STORY  OF    EUGENIE    ST.    LEGER 

"Men  are  but  playthings  in  the  hands  of  Fate; 
Their  passions — leading  strings,  their  puny  hate — 
A  whip  to  lash  them  with,  their  loves  unlawful — 
Meshes  ensnaring  them."  — Fair  Felix. 

In  a  sumptuous  chamber  in  the  Hotel  de  la  Ville, 
Genoa,  an  hour  before  sunset,  a  solitary  figure  filled 
the  open  casement  looking  out  upon  the  blue  Med- 
iterranean. 

Gay  feluccas  were  skimming  the  trembling  waters 
and  bathing  in  the  golden  drops  distilled  by  the  west- 
ern sun,  as  one  by  one,  or  in  pairs,  they  coasted  up 
from  Nice.  The  softly  tempered  air  brought  fitful 
notes  of  a  barcarole  to  the  listless  ear,  the  friendly  sun 
glinted  the  yellow  lock  that  drooped  over  the  bowed 
forehead,,  and  a  Florentine  girl  of  dark  and  splendid 
beauty  coquetted  in  her  two  oared  shell  in  the  track 
of  the  sunniest  waves,  flashing  upon  the  young  Anglese 
now  coaxing  and  now  disdainful  glances,  without  one 
look  in  return. 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  that  drooping  figure  at 
the  casement;  for  Dane  Walraven  had  lost  none  of 
his  manly  beauty,  although  his  face  had  now  a  settled 
pallor,  his  blue  eyes  an  habitual  expression  as  of  one 
who  is  conscious  of  being  constantly  followed,  secretly, 
stealthily,  remorselessly,  by  something  unseen  and  yet 
an  embodiment. 

243 


244  DANE    WALRAVEN 

He  had  come  to  Genoa,  as  he  had  promised  Eugenie 
and  without  a  purpose  except  to  obey  her.  Upon  his 
arrival,  an  hour  before  he  sat  down  at  the  window,  he 
had  sent  for  Paris  and  London  mail,  and  a  letter 
had  been  brought  to  him — from  Eugenie.  It  was  bulky; 
and  as  he  looked  at  it  without  breaking  the  seals — 
three  lavender-colored  seals  with  a  curious  monogram, 
he  felt  an  inexpressible  dread  of  it.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments he  was  unnerved. 

He  had  laid  the  packet  down  upon  his  table,  and 
seated  himself  at  the  window,  astonished  at  the  feel- 
ing which  disturbed  him,  for  which  he  could  not  ac- 
count, but  which  seemed  to  presage  new  calamities. 

"Coward,  coward,"  he' muttered,  propping  his  chin 
with  his  clenched  hand,  "every  shadow  startles  me, 
every  noise  alarms  me!  And  still — there  is  some  in- 
fluence directing  my  life  which  is  as  incomprehensible 
as  it  is  terrible —yes,  terrible!" 

His  face  grew  a  shade  paler  as  he  uttered  the  last 
words,  and  he  glanced  Jfurtively  around  the  chamber, 
until  his  wandering  gaze  rested  upon  the  sealed  letter. 

"I  will  read  it  directly,"  he  said,  as  if  apologizing 
to  the  absent  writer.  "Yes,  directly.  I  wonder  what 
it  is  all  about?  It  was  not  necessary  to  write  anything, 
all  was  settled.  And,  as  for  what  was  past — is  it  not 
printed  in  characters  of  fire  upon  my  memory,  the  hor- 
rible accusation  which  drove  peace  out  of  my  heart 
forever — Dane  Walraven,  the  uxoricide!  Ay,  the  wife- 
murderer!  I  must  teach  myself  to  hear  the  accursed 
words,  because  they  have  less  terror  for  me  in  the 
sound  than  in  the  thought —  they  astound,  petrify  me, 
when  I  speak  them!" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  245 

The  sun  had  sunk  when  he  picked  up  the  letter  from 
Eugenie,  closed  the  casement  through  which  the  even- 
ing breeze  came  chill  and  moist,  lighted  the  gilt  can- 
delabrum over  the  table,  and  slowly  broke  the  seals, 
murmuring,  as  he  did  so,  in  a  strangely  absent  way: 

"Poor  Eugenie.  Poor  child.  She  a  nun.  It  is 
horrible.  She  will  die — perhaps  that  is  best.  I  would 
save  her,  if  I  could.  But  I  can  do  nothing — nothing. 
It  is  all  over." 

He  spread  the  neatly  written  sheets  on  the  table, 
and  began  to  read.  Not  a  word  escaped  him  until  he 
had  read  to  the  very  end;  but  his  actions  while  he 
pursued  his  task  were  singular,  his  look  startling,  and 
when  he  lifted  his  head,  he  appeared  like  one  stricken 
with  madness.  His  hands  clasped  themselves  across 
his  forehead,  his  lips  were  drawn  back,  his  eyes  were 
hollow  and  staring.  He  had  risen  now  from  his  chair 
and  for  a  moment  stood  erect;  then,  with  a  laugh  that 
would  have  chilled  one's  marrow,  low,  bitter,  frightful, 
he  fell  to  the  floor. 

An  attendant  found  him  there  at  midnight,  attracted 
by  the  light  which  still  streamed  out  of  his  chamber 
through  the  crevices  around  the  door.  A  physician 
wa.s  summoned,  and  he  pronounced  it  a  "case  of  cata- 
lepsy. "  Professional  curiosity  led  him  to  read  the 
letter  lying  on  the  table,  which  evidently  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  attack,  and  when  he  had  finished 
it,  he  sent  for  a  clerical  friend,  an  American,  to  come 
at  once  to  the  hotel. 

"A  little  religious  consolation,"  said1  the  doctor  to 
himself,  as  he  folded  the  letter  carefully,  and  placed 


246  DANE    WALRAVEN 

it  in  the  waistcoat  pocket  of  the  unconscious  patient 
lying  on  the  bed,  "decidedly,  a  little  religious  conso- 
lation will  be  of  benefit  to  this  young  American.  Ah, 
women  have  so  much  to  answer  for — they're  always  in 
it,  always!" 

And,  as  usual,  the  man  escaped  sentence. 

The  letter  from  Eugenie  was  a  revelation  calculated 
to  unsettle  the  brain  of  anyone  in  Walraven's  condi- 
tion. It  was  a  brief  but  startling  history  of  her  life 
prior  to  the  fatal  coming  to  Walraven  House,  and  was 
in  substance  as  follows: 

Her  mother  was  Sarah  Crouch! 

Eugenie  was  the  child  bequeathed  by  her  dying 
mother  to  Mr.  St.  Leger,  the  amiable  minister  who 
called  at  the  prison  so  often  to  see  the  unfortunate 
woman. 

The  packet  left  by  the  latter,  received  by  the  min- 
ister, and  deposited  in  a  bank  at  Carlisle,  was  sacredly 
held  for  Eugenie,  and  delivered  to  her  by  the  banker 
on  her  twenty-first  birthday,  no  one,  not  even  the 
clergyman  who  had  adopted  her  into  his  family,  hav- 
ing any  knowledge  whatever  of  the  contents. 

Mr.  St.  Leger  had  given  the  girl  a  liberal  education, 
he  himself  being  a  man  of  rare  erudition,  a  student, 
and  a  philanthropist.  On  her  twenty  first  birthday 
Eugenie  was  an  accomplished,  educated,  and  beautiful 
woman — and  a  poor  one.  The  only  son  of  her  bene- 
factor, a  young  man  only  one  year  her  senior,  had  long 
indulged  a  passionate  but  hopeless  love  for  his  lovely 
little  companion,  and  when  he  was  told  by  a  London 
physician  that  he  was  a  victim  of  quick  consumption, 


DANE    WALRAVEN  247 

and  would  not  live  a  twelvemonth  longer,  Eugenie 
yielded,  from  pity  for  the  handsome  youth,  and  from 
gratitude  to  his  father,  to  the  unfortunate  lover's 
entreaties  and  they  were  married.  They  went  abroad, 
remaining  in  Italy  until  the  death  of  her  husband — 
fourteen  months  after  the  marriage — and  then  she  re- 
turned to  Carlisle. 

Two  days  later,  she  was  in  possession  of  the  mys- 
terious packet,  the  contents  of  which  astounded  her. 

Her  mother  had  purloined  the  Walraven  jewels,  had 
secreted  them  on  the  same  night  in  the  cleft  of  one  of 
the  stones  which  lined  the  well  at, the  Royal  Inn,  and 
the  letter  gave  minute  directions  to  the  daughter  how 
to  find  the  casket.  The  concluding  lines  were: 

"And  now,  my  beloved  daughter,  my  poor  little  one, 
I  have  given  my  character,  my  life,  maybe  my  soul, 
to  make  you  rich.  Take  care  of  your  riches!  Take 
the  stones  to  Paris,  find  a  dealer  there,  and  sell  them 
to  him.  They  are  worth  twelve  thousand  pounds;  I 
heard  Mr.  Walraven  say  so.  He  is  rich,  and  has  no 
children,  and  his  wife  has  sent  me  to  my  death  be- 
cause of  them.  Keep  the  money  you  get  for  them, 
and  be  happy.  If  you  give  it  up  my  curse  will  rest 
upon  you!" 

Eugenie  had  followed  her  mother's  instructions,  had 
gone  to  Paris,  sold  the  gems,  and  received  forty-five 
thousand  five-franc  notes  for  them.  Her  bankers  in 
London,  recommended  to  her  by  a  Paris  house,  had 
placed  it  for  her,  and  she  had  lived  on  the  income. 
The  principal  was  unimpaired;  and  she  had  made  ar- 
rangements with  the  bank,  before  leaving  London,  to 


248  DANE    WALRAVEN 

place  it  to  his  credit  — Dane's -in  restitution.  He  was 
not  to  understand  that  she  was  in  want.  She  had  ar- 
ranged to  take  the  veil;  and  this  was  her  farewell. 
She  had  hated  his  name  when  she  had  first  heard  it, 
and  had  gone  to  Walraven  House  with  the  determina- 
tion to  destroy  his  home.  She  had  succeeded;  but 
at  a  fearful  cost  to  herself.  Her  hate  had  swiftly 
turned  to  love,  unreasoning,  unconquerable,  deathless. 
All  that  she  could  do  had  now  been  done,  to  retrieve 
her  past;  and  to-morrow  she  would  enter  the  walls  of 
the  Convent  of  *  *  *  *,  without  hope,  but  with  a  heart 
at  peace  with  the  world  she  was  leaving. 

"Forget  me,  Dane,"  she  concluded.  "Rouse  your- 
self and  look  around  for  opportunities  to  be  a  useful 
man;  there  are  so  many  such  opportunities  in  this  hard 
world,  and  to  be  useful  to  others  is  surely  to  secure 
the  greatest  amount  of  happiness  attainable  in  this 
life." 

It  was  some  days  before  Dane  was  conscious  of  his 
surroundings;  and  when  he  finally  opened  his  eyes, 
they  rested  upon  a  face  he  knew. 

It  was  the  face  of  the  Reverend  Ebenezer  Doolittle. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

MISS  AGNES  BLOUNT  AND    HER    "ORIGINAL" 

The  very  spirited  acquaintance  begun  in  the  street, 
between  the  daughter  of  the  "forty-niner"  and  the 
evangelist,  had  been  briskly  cultivated  by  the  latter, 
and — for  her  own  amusement — encouraged  by  the  for- 
mer. They  had  become  exceedingly  good  friends,  and 
the  habitues  of  the  "George"  delighted  in  seeing  them 
together,  and  in  listening  to  the  refreshingly  naive 
expressions  of  the  handsome  young  lady,  who  paid  not 
the  slightest  attention  to  her  grinning  admirers.  Mr. 
Doolittle  had  developed  a  spirit  of  gallantry  which  it 
seemed  to  be  the  constant  purpose  of  his  "chum"  to 
impose  upon.  She  virtually  led  him  by  the  nose,  send- 
ing him  back  to  Walraven  House,  while  he  remained 
there,  upon  t'he  smallest  pretext  when  she  wanted  him 
to  "light  out,"  as  she  elegantly  put  it,  using  him  as 
an  errand  boy,  taking  him  along  with  her  upon  break- 
neck excursions  over  the  downs,  and  generally  using 
him  up  by  the  time  she  dragged  him  back  to  the  inn. 
When  Miss  Agnes  and  her  father  were  ready  to  leave 
Carlisle,  that  domineering  young  person  told  her  in- 
dulgent parent  that  she  wished  him  to  invite  the  Rev- 
erend Ebenezer  Doolittle  to  join  them,  as  they  were 
about  to  start  for  the  Continent,  and  "a  parson  was  a 
good  thing  to  have  along." 

249 


25O  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"How  so?"   asked  the  colonel,   doubtfully. 

"Why  to  keep  you  straight,  pop,"  she  frankly  ex- 
plained, "and  besides,  he's  a  handy  sort  of  chap;  he's 
delightfully  chummy,  and  can't  make  love  to  me." 

"But  -can  you  dispose  of  him  without  his  consent? 
I  know  you  have  a  mountain  of — of — " 

"Cheek?      Certainly.     Well?" 

"H'm,  I  mean  assurance,  of  course;  but,  suppose 
the  parson  won't  go,  or  can't  go?" 

Miss  Agnes,  who  had  been  looking  out  of  one  of  the 
dingy  windows  in  the  parlor,  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"Oh  there  he  is,  now.  Wait,  and  I'll  settle  the 
question  instanter, "  and  she  had  shot  out  of  the  room 
before  the  colonel  fairly  caught  her  meaning. 

"Zounds,"  he  growled  to  himself,  as  he  heard  her 
returning,  "I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  that  girl;  I 
can't  curb  her.  Lucky  she's  good  gold,  or  her  spirit 
would  break  things — " 

"Say,  pop! "  cried  the  young  lady,  dragging  the 
beaming  Ebenezer  into  the  room  in  a  most  uncere- 
monious style,  "here's  the  tender  foot  himself.  Now, 
you  ask  him." 

The  colonel  was  a  raw-boned,  tall,  and  rugged  man, 
who  had  learned  in  the  far  west  to  come  to  the  point 
with  startling  brevity. 

"Parson,"  said  he,  squaring  himself  before  the  "roly- 
poly"  figure  of  the  latter,  and  diving  his  hands  deep 
into  his  breeches  pockets,  "my  daughter  Ag,  here,  says 
you're  a  bonanza  for  fun,  and  she  wants  you  to  travel 
with  us  to  keep  the  blues  away  from  her.  We're 
bound  overland  for  the  Continent,  as  it's  called, 


DANE    WALRAVEN  25! 

and    we  start    to-morrow    morning    at    chicken-crow. 
Will  you  join  us?" 

The  parson  was  greatly  surprised  by  this  invitation, 
but  inwardly  delighted.  There  was  really  nothing  to 
prevent  him,  he  had  no  ties  anywhere,  no  engage- 
ments; and  he  had  already  looked  ruefully  forward  to 
the  departure  of  his  tyrannical  monitress.  So,  after  a 
moment's  reflection,  he  said,  turning  toward  her  with 
a  comical  duck,  of  his  shining  head — for  the  parson 
was  very  bald: 

"Verily,  where  thou  goest,  I  will  go." 

"Good  enough!  Put  it  there,  Dolly!  '  cried  she, 
extending  a  slender  hand  which  he  heartily  grasped. 
"Now,  run  back  to  the  manor,  say  good-bye,  pack  up 
your  traps,  and  come  here  to-night,  so  that  you'll  be 
on  deck  in  the  morning  by  candle-light.  Put!" 

The  next  morning  saw  the  three  odd.  travelers  on 
their  way  to  London,  from  whence  they  went  to  Paris, 
thence  to  Marseilles,  then  to  'Nice,  and — a  week  be- 
fore Dane's  arrival — they  were  in  Genoa.  Here  the 
evangelist  fell  in  with  an  English  physician  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  made  in  London,  and  who  had 
gone  there  from  his  adopted  city,  Genoa,  on  a  brief 
visit,  and  the  two  men,  very  uolike  each  other,  had 
nevertheless  renewed  their  short  acquaintance  with 
mutual  pleasure. 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  Mr.  Doolittle  appeared 
in  Dane's  sick  chamber. 

At  the  first  sight  of  him,  Dane  had  uttered  a  groan, 
his  mind  instantly  reverting  to  the  scenes  at  Walraven 
House  in  which  the  preacher  had  borne  a  part,  before 
the  ruin  was  consummated. 


DANE    WALRAVEN 

But  Mr.  Doolittle,  who  had  heard  with  dismay  all 
the  miserable  details  of  the  story,  besides  a  brief  out- 
line of  Dane's  subsequent  "affair"  from  the  physician, 
had  cheerfully  come  to  him,  determined  to  do  what- 
ever lay  in  his  power  to  divert  the  mind  of  his  former 
host  from  its  troubles;  and  his  efforts  were  soon  re- 
warded. Whatever  the  reverend  gentleman's  eccentric- 
ities might  be,  he  was  at  least  a  man  of  warm  im- 
pulses, and  overflowed  with  jollity,  and  Dane  found 
fnmself  smiling  at  some  of  his  droll  speeches  and  com- 
ical actions  before  the  day  was  over. 

At  the  end  of  a  week,  Miss  Agnes  had  become  tired 
of  Genoa,  and  had  said  to  her  father,  as  they  came  out 
of  the  wonderful  Brignole  Sala  one  morning: 

"Let's  vamose!" 

The  colonel  had  agreed,  and  Ebenezer  was  informed 
that: 

"Genoa's  played  out,  DolJy.  We're  going  to  Flor- 
ence. Tell  your  friend  with  the  dumps  by-by,  to-night, 
because  we  shall  peg  out  for  Leghorn  by  the  funny  little 
boat  )'ou  saw  bobbing  around  in  the  harbor  this  morn- 
ing." 

Mr.  Doolittle,  or  "Dolly,"  as  his  chum  euphonisti- 
cally  called  him  when  she  was  in  a  good  humor  with 
him  and  everything  else,  looked  grave. 

"What's  on  your  mind?  Haven't  been  soft  on  one 
of  those  gypsy-looking  girls  in  theater  dress  I  saw 
you  staring  at  this  morning,  hey?  Don't  get  spooney, 
Dolly,  or  I'll  drop  you." 

But  Dolly  disclaimed  any  such  worldly  weakness. 
"I  was  thinking  of  my  poor  friend,"  said  he,  with  an 
honest  sigh. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  253 

"Oh,  that  Mr.  Walraven  Well,  what's  the  matter 
with  him?  The  doctor  said  he  was  all  right  again,  if 
he'd  only  brace  up.  However,  although  he's  a  real 
pretty  fellow,  I  haven't  as  much  sympathy  for  him  as 
would  save  a  claim- jumper  from  a  lasso!" 

"Refrain,  my  dear  friend,"  remonstrated  her  com- 
panion, "judge  not,  lest  ye  be  judged." 

"Oh,  don't  spout  Scripture  over  me — about  this  case. 
Didn't  he  deliberately  skip,  and  leave  his  wife  with- 
out even  ta-ta?!> 

"Truly,  he  stood  not  on  the  order  of  his  going,"  re- 
sponded Ebenezer,  sorrowfully. 

"And  didn't  he  take  up  with  a  nobody  from  no- 
where? " 

"She  was  of  marvelous  charm,"  murmured  he,  think- 
ing to  excuse — just  a  little — his  friend's  sad  error. 

"Charm!"  Miss  Blount's  head  was  tossed  disdain- 
fully, her  brilliant  eyes  scintillated  with  the  indigna- 
tion she  felt. 

"Verily,  she  was  exceedingly  beautiful,"  persisted 
"Dolly,"  very  humbly,  however. 

"Oh,  doubtless;  but  you  and  I  saw  one  more  so,  at 
the  Zoo  in  Paris.  " 

"I  do  not  recollect,"  observed  he,  trying  to  remem- 
ber. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do;  it  was  the  cobra." 

Mr.  Doolittle  was  silenced.  But  he  still  bethought 
him  of  Dane,  to  whom  he  was  fast  becoming  attached, 
whom  he  feared  to  leave  for  awhile  yet,  at  least. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Miss  Agnes,  reading  his  thoughts, 
"you  can  take  him  along;  he's  so  mopy  he  won't 
bother  us  much  with  his  compan)'. " 


254  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Thanks,  my  dear  friend,  thanks,"  returned  Ebene- 
zer,  much  relieved;  ''I'll  just  see  if  he  will  accom- 
pany ius, "  and  he  was  off  at  once,  his  '"chum"  watch- 
ing him  as  he  waddled  along  the  terrace  with  a  dry 
smile  on  her  fine  face. 

"Maybe,  after  all,"  she  mused,  "it  will  be  doing 
some  good.  The  man  acts,  and  looks,  as  though  he 
was  haunted!" 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

THE  WOMAN   IN   A   SHROUD   OF    GRAY 

"I  could  swear 

That  gown'd  intruder  sought  me  here, 
Well  flesh'd,  and  was  no  shadow." 

— The  Conspirators. 

Four  persons  were  walking  in  the  Boboli  Gardens, 
in  the  city  of  Florence. 

It  was  a  glorious  afternoon,  such  a  one  as  Florence 
often  yields;  when  the  sky  is  cloudless,  and  the  in- 
comparable air  is  stirred  by  the  breeze  from  the  dis- 
tant Adriatic.  The  atmosphere  was  iridescent,  the 
thousand  scents  that  mingled  with  its  breath  were  in- 
toxicating as  the  juice  of  poppies. 

Dane  Walraven  was  one  of  the  four  who  wandered 
through  the  maze  of  foliage,  statuary,  and  miniature 
specimens  of  the  architecture  of  the  dead  republic.  He 
had  been  easily  induced  to  go  with  his  new  friends  — 
they  were  all  three  his  friends  now;  his  paleface,  his 
hopeless  apathy,  his  look  of  contrite  sorrow,  his  gentle 
manners,  had  impressed  even  Miss  Agnes,  who  had  at 
first  been  so  prejudiced  against  him. 

"He  can  be  made  over,"  was  her  curious  decision, 
after  the  first  meeting  with  him  on  the  Leghorn  boat; 
and  she  had  concluded,  with  her  usual  energy,  to  at- 
tempt this  charlatanism  at  once. 

They  had  been  two  days  in  Florence;    and  a  chang- 

255 


256  DANE    WALRAVEN 

ing  color,  a  brighter  eye,  and  a  faint  interest  in  his 
surroundings,  had  encouraged  Agnes  to  believe  in  her 
powers  of  rejuvenation  in  very  earnest.  Dane  had 
shown  a  quiet  gratitude  to  the  fair  girl  for  her  little 
attentions,  for  the  interest  she  so  ingenuously  manifest- 
ed in  him,  for  the  efforts  she  constantly  put  forth  in 
a  hundred  charming  and  disinterested  ways,  to  divert 
his  mind  from  its  dark  musings.  But  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Doolittle  was  inclined  to  complain  of  this  new  oc- 
cupation at  first,  and  Agnes  found  it  necessary  to  re- 
primand him  in  her  own  characteristic  fashion. 

"You  are  becoming  worldly,  Aggie,"  said  he,  re- 
proachfully, as  the  two  walked  down  to  the  shore  be- 
hind her  father  and  Dane. 

"See  here,  Eb, "  retorted  the  spirited  young  "4ger, " 
"I  am  playing  nurse,  and  if  you  interfere  with  my 
plans,  I  will  lasso  you.  If  you  were  going  about  with 
a  long  face,  and  groaning  like  a  sick  buffalo,  I  would 
tie  3rour  head  up  in  your  red  bandanna,  and  give  you 
bran-mash.  But  Mr.  Walraven  requires  another  kind 
of  treatment.  He  has  a  diseased  mind  of  another  color; 
and  nothing  less  or  weaker  than  an  all  round  circus 
will  answer,  or  fit  his  case.  Now  subside." 

And  the  reverend  gentleman  did  subside.  He  soon 
began  to  comprehend,  moreover,  that  the  good  Samar- 
itan was  really  needed,  and  obeying  the  promptings  of 
a  good  heart,  he  entered  warmly  into  Agnes'  little 
schemes  for  the  rehabilitation  of  his  pale  friend,  and 
was  duly  rewarded  by  that  young  lady's  approbation. 

There  were  so  man)'  marvelous  beauties  to  be  seen 
and  exclaimed  over,  in  the  wonderful  Boboli  Gardens, 


DANE    WALRAVEN  257 

that  twilight  had  fairly  stolen  a  march  upon  the  loi- 
terers before  they  recollected  that  they  were  to  have 
seen  the  house  of  Dante,  Via  S.  Martino,  before  dusk. 

The  colonel  suddenly  reminded  the  others  of  the 
lateness  of  the  hour. 

"We  must  go  at  once,"  said  he,  turning  about,  "or 
they  will  not  admit  us  to-night;  and  we  are  going  to 
Naples  to-morrow  morning,  you  know." 

"Well,  come  on,"  cried  Agnes,  leading,  "we  can  in- 
dulge in  a  dog  trot  here,  there  are  no  spectators  of 
Dolly's  paraboles;"  and  she  proceeded  to  demonstrate 
the  fleetness  of  her  own  slender  feet,  by  skurrying 
along  the  darkening  path,  while  the  preacher  waddled 
ludicrously  after  her,  stopping  very  soon,  however,  and 
calling  after  her  to  wait  for  him. 

"Wait  for  you?  What  for?"  returned  she,  without 
pausing. 

"Because  —  because — I'm  short— of  wind,"  explained 
he,  gasping  between  the  words. 

But  only  a  merry  laugh  answered  him,  supplemented 
by  a  little  chaff: 

"Think  of  one  of  your  sermons,    Dolly." 

For  awhile  longer  he  bravely  persisted  in  the  use- 
less endeavor  to  keep  pace  with  his  "trainer." 

The  colonel  had  taken  a  short  cut  through  the  shrub- 
bery, and  was  already  doing  well  with  his  long  stride. 
Dane  was  the  last  to  follow;  his  thoughts  were  astray, 
his  step  slow,  and  soon  he  saw  no  more  of  his  com- 
panions, and  heard  nothing  except  the  clear  notes  of 
the  girl's  voice  as  it  floated  back  to  him. 

Suddenly  he  stopped — stopped  as  if  all  motion  had 


258  DANE    WALRAVEN 

been  shocked  out  of  him.  He  was  at  the  moment 
passing  among  a  labyrinth  of  luxurious  trees,  tall  and 
interlacing  shrubs,  surrounding  a  water-grotto,  when, 
glancing  into  the  depths  of  a  recess  on  his  right,  into 
the  mouth  of  which  the  rising  moon-rays  were  stealing, 
he  saw  the  outlines  of  a  woman's  form 

A  woman  in  gray,  her  long  robe  clinging  to  her 
tall  and  majestic  figure,  her  head  and  part  of  her  face 
concealed  by  a  gray  hood  or  cowl.  Still  as  one  of  the 
white  statues  around  her,  her  eyes,  large  and  inex- 
pressibly mournful,  directed  toward  him,  her  cheeks 
pallid  as  the  moonbeams  that  rested  upon  them,  she 
stood  peering  out  at  him,  a  voiceless  phantom. 

The  portly  preacher  had  sat  down  on  a  marble  slab 
at  a  little  distance  further  on,  very  much  out  of  breath, 
and  unpleasantly  warm.  He  intended  to  wait  for  Dane 
to  come  up,  and  then  to  propose  that  they  two  should 
return  to  the  hotel,  as  it  would  certainly  be  too  late 
now  to  obtain  admission  to  the  poet's  house  in  Marti- 
no  Way. 

"It  will  teach  that  spoiled  child  of  the — the  plains," 
he  mused  aloud,  "not  to  expect  me  to  surrender  every 
atom  of  my  dignity.  She  shall  find  me  calmly  seated 
in  an  easy-chair,  when  she  returns  heated  and  tired 
and  fretful,  and  the  levity  of — of  youth  will  be 
abashed." 

But  the  speculations  of  the  preacher  were  not  to 
"materialize."  In  the  midst  of  his  reflections  there 
came,  from  the  direction  of  the  water-grotto,  a  cry  of 
such  despair,  such  wildness,  such  agony,  as  to  hold 
him  frozen  to  the  stone  on  which  he  sat.  The  voice 


DANE    WALRAVEN  259 

was  like  and  yet  unlike  that  of  Dane  Walraven,  and  it 
came  straight  down  the  path  he  himself  had  but  a  few 
moments  ago  hurried  along,  followed  by  the  fanning 
breeze.  He  listened;  but  there  was  no  repetition  of 
the  cry,  no  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps,  nothing  save 
the  rustle  of  the  leaves,  the  faint  sigh  of  the  wind  as 
it  wandered  through  the  branches  of  shadowy  trees. 

"It  must  have  been  Walraven!"  whispered  the  awed 
listener  to  himself.  He  strained  his  eyes  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  grotto,  but  could  see  no  one  approaching. 

No  one? 

Even  while  he  looked,  he  saw  the  dim  outlines  of  a 
gray-robed  figure,  with  a  gray  cowl  muffling  chin  and 
brow,  gliding  across  the  path  and  disappearing  in  the 
dense  shrubbery  not  a  dozen  yards  from  him. 

"A  woman!"  exclaimed  he,  starting  up  from  the 
stone  base,  and  peering  after  the  vanished  mystery. 
"But  that  was  not  a  woman's  voice;  it  was,  it  must 
have  been  Walraven' s!  " 

As  the  preacher  hastened  along  the  canopied  walk, 
with  eye  and  ear  alert,  he  called-  aloud  to  his  friend, 
and  was  repeating  Dane's  name  when  he  came  to  the 
spot  where  the  latter  had  halted. 

Then  it  was  his  own  cry  that  rose  upon  the  night 
air,  a  cry  of  dismay. 

Prone  in  the  path  at  his  feet  lay  the  form  of  his 
friend,  with  the  face  downward,  pressing  the  earth 
with  open  palms,  inanimate  and  limp. 

Bending  over  it,  the  preacher  tried  to  raise  it  up  by 
the  shoulders;  but  Dane  Walraven  was  a  large  man, 
and  he  only  succeeded  in  turning  the  body  over,  so 


200  DANE    WALRAVEN 

that  he  could  see  the  face.  Then  he  uttered  another 
cry,  a  cry  of  distress. 

The  moonlight  revealed  a  countenance  as  pallid  as 
the  face  of  death  itself,  though  with  none  of  death's 
calm  and  passionless  expression  in  the  distorted  feat- 
ures; the  eyes  were  wide  open  and  staring,  the  open 
mouth  was  ghastly;  horror  and  terror  were  stamped 
upon  the  cold  face. 

Trembling  with  fear  of  he  knew  not  what,  but  with 
no  thought  of  flying,  the  preacher  vainly  called  upon 
the  stricken  man  to  rouse  himself.  He  took  the  cold 
and  outspread  hands  in  his  and  slapped  them  together, 
seized  the  drooping  head  and  shook  it,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose. It  seemed  indeed  as  if  the  spirit  of  Dane  Wai- 
raven  was  at  last  at  peace. 

But  now,  in  the  moment  of  his  perplexity,  he  heard 
approaching  footsteps,  then  a  voice,  and — 

"The  Lord  be  praised,  it  is  Aggie!"  ejaculated  he 
gratefully. 

"Dolly,  you  old  humbug,  where  are  you?" 

"Here,  here!"  shouted  he,  his  frozen  tongue  almost 
refusing  its  office. 

"Why — what  in  the  name  of  Kismet  is  all  this?" 
cried  the  girl,  springing  toward  the  strange  scene. 

Mr.  Doolittle  stammered  out  all  the  explanation  he 
couid  give. 

"Well,"  declared  Agnes,  gravely,  "these  are  funny 
happenings,  and  there's  something  behind  them  all, 
you  can  bank  on  that.  I'll  find  them  out,  too.  But — 
why  do  you  stand  here  staring  like  a  dead  Injin,  stupid? 
Here,  pop,"  to  the  colonel,  who  had  just  come  up, 


DANE    WALRAVEN  26l 

"run  and  dip  some  of  that  water  out  of  the  pool  there 
— in  your  hat;  hurry  up." 

The  colonel,  not  being  an  emotional  man,  had 
glanced  down  at  the  group  without  "making  remarks," 
and  he  n9w  obeyed  his  daughter,  or  "the  major,"  as 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  calling  her  at  home,  throwing  a 
liberal  shower  upon  Dane's  face,  which  soon  brought 
him  out  of  his  swoon.  It  was  several  minutes,  how- 
ever, before  he  was  able  to  get  upon  his  feet,  or  to 
stand  upon  them  without  support  from  the  colonel's 
arm.  When  he  walked  forth  from  the  moonlit  gardens 
his  steps  were  slow  and  uncertain;  and  not  until  he 
had  passed  into  the  open  street  did  he  raise  his  head 
from  his  breast  and  look  about  him,  suspiciously,  fear- 
fully. 

With  one  of  his  friends  on  either  side,  holding  an 
arm,  he  reached  the  hotel  in  silence,  and  sat  down  on 
the  cool  piazza,  with  the  manner  of  a  somnambulist. 

There  they  left  him  for  awhile,  going  off  to  consult 
about  his  condition,  which  indeed  alarmed  them. 
But  Agnes  remained.  She  seated  herself  near  his 
chair,  narrowly  scrutinizing  his  death-like  features. 
As  his  eyes  turned  .toward  hers  for  an  instant,  she 
asked  him,  with  a  trace  of  emotion  in  her  voice: 

"What  was  it?" 

A  terrible  expression  passed  like  a  shadow  over  his 
wan  face,  he  shuddered  violently,  and  answered,  in 
shaking  tones: 

"1  saw  my  wife!" 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

VESUVIUS,    AND  THE   BAY   OF  NAPLES 


"  She  sat  beneath  the  yellow  awn, 
Watching  the  scene  with  eye  of  fawn; 
Her  oval  face,  with  varying  tints, 
Turned  tow'rd  the  sea!  "  — Fair  Felix. 


The  morning  following  the  mysterious  scenes  in  the 
Boboli  Gardens  found  Dane  Walraven  in  too  pros- 
trated a  condition  to  journey,  or  indeed  to  leave  his 
chamber.  His  friends  of  course  had  no  notion  of 
leaving  him  in  such  a  state;  and  the  little  council  of 
three,  called  by  Agnes,  decided  to  call  a  physician  at 
once,  and  this  was  accordingly  done. 

The  physician,  an  Englishman,  administered  a  ner- 
vine to  the  patient,  sent  the  evangelist  in  to  divert  him 
and  reported  to  "the  major." 

"How  soon  will  he  be  able  to  move  on,  doctor?"  in- 
quired the  young  lady. 

"In  two  days  I  think  we  shall  see  him  sufficiently 
recovered  from  the  nervous  shock  to  'move  on,'  under 
your  espionage,"  was  the  smiling  reply. 

"Well,  what  do  you  call  his  complaint?" 

"He  is  impressed  with  the  belief  that  his  wife's 
spirit  has  taken  shape  and  is  following  him, "  answered 
the  doctor,  gravely. 

"So  it  appears,"    observed    the    matter-of-fact  Miss 


DANE   WALRAVEN  263 

Blount,  "He  said  last  night  that  he  saw  her — in  the 
Boboli,  you  know." 

"So  my  friend  Doolittle  informs  me." 

"Well,  his  wife  was  cremated,  so  it  is  not  probable 
there  was  enough  material  left  to  make  a  shape  out 
of,  is  it?" 

"Scarcely;  but  the  mind  constructs  wonderful  fab- 
rics and  figures  out  of  the  impalpable." 

"That's  so.     It's  a  disease,  isn't  it?" 

"Y-es,"  admitted  the  practitioner,  with  queer  hesita- 
tion for  so  matter-of-fact  an  appearing  person. 

"What  do  you  call  it?" 

"I  really  can  give  it  no  positive  definition.  There 
are  hallucinations,  as  you  are  aware,  to  which  highly 
sensitive  organizations  are  not  unfrequently  subject,  as 
also  are  persons  of  abnormal  habits.  But  here  is  a 
man  of  splendid  bodily  powers,  with  no  organic  dis- 
ease, no  derangement  of  the  bodily  functions  to  super- 
induce or  cause  such  idiosyncrasies;  and  yet  who  per- 
sists in  believing  the  most  extraordinary  things,  and 
who  is  overcome — without  warning — by  what  he  calls 
visitations  from  the  dead!" 

"It's  a  queer  case,  that's  a  fact,"  assented  Agnes, 
demurely;  i:and  I  really  think,  after  you  leave  him,  we 
shall  have  to  be  his  doctors." 

"You  could  do  very  much,  I  am  sure,"  observed 
the  physician,  glancing  at  her  bright,  fair  face  and 
graceful  figure. 

"I  say,  Dolly,"  exclaimed  she,  utterly  impervious  to 
compliment,  "can't  you  exorcise  the  demon,  or  what 
ever  it  is?  It's  right  in  your  line — old  humbug." 


264  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Alas,"  returned  Dolly,  who  with  half-closed  eyes 
was  lazily  puffing  from  a  long  church  warden,  "it  is 
not  an  ordinary  devil  that  afflicts  our  brother,  you  see; 
it  is  a  beautiful  spirit  of  whose  presence  he  complains 
and  the  Scriptures  have  not  provided  for  such  an 
anomalous  case.  Besides,"  with  a  sigh,  "in  this  age  of 
unbelief,  Apollyon  and  his  mjTmidons  take  upon  them- 
selves so  many  forms,  many  of  them  alluring  to  the 
carnal  eye  of  man,  that  we  of  the  sacred  cloth  cannot, 
like  the  prophets  of  old,  protect  our  people  from  their 
assaults." 

"Humph,"  rejoined  Miss  Agnes,  contemptuously, 
"well,  I  have  a  plan  for  the  boy's  cure." 

"Propound  it,  oh,  daughter  of  Heth,"  purred  the 
placid  smoker 

"We'll  keep  him  with  us,  keep  him  going,  keep 
him  busy,  and  keep  him  tired." 

"Excellent!  Tonic,  regimen,  exercise,  diversion," 
was  the  physician's  comment,  as  he  departed. 

"Does  your  friend  ride?"  asked  Agnes,  full  of  her 
idea. 

"Like  a  centaur,"  replied  Dolly. 

"Good  enough!  You  don't;  you  never  would  have 
done  for  old  Kentuck,  Eb,  old  boy," 

"Ah,  my  beloved  sister,"  retorted  Eb,  reproachfully, 
"I  have  devoted  myself  to  the  service  of  the  Lord,  not 
to  the  ring-master." 

"Pity  you  didn't;  you  would  have  made  such  a  jolly 
tumbler!  " 

This  irreverent  speech  received  no  notice  from  Mr. 
Doolittle  except  a  gentle  sigh;  and  failing  to  rouse 


DANE    WALRAVEN  265 

him,  Miss  Blount  left  him  to  his  pipe  and  his  nap,  and 
posted  off  to  consult  "pop"  concerning  the  treatment 
she  proposed  to  adopt  in  Mr.  Walraven's  strange  case 

That  night,  Dane  went  to  his  friend's  room. 

"Let  us  leave  here  to-morrow,"  said  he,  feverishly. 

He  was  haggard  and  wan;  and  as  he  sank  into  a 
chair,  the  preacher  observed  that  he  drew  his  breath 
painfully,  his  eyes  wandered  nervously  about  the 
chamber,  and  there  was  a  covert  excitement  in  his 
manner  distressingly  apparent. 

"But  you  are  not  yet  well  enough  to  travel,"  object- 
ed the  preacher. 

"Nevertheless,  I  must  leave  here,  or  I  shall  be  still 
worse,"  replied  Walraven,  with  a  shudder.  "It  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  remain  here  more  than  one  night; 
I  could  not  endure  it." 

"Very  well,  we  have  only  delayed  on  your  account. 
We  will  start  in  the  morning,  for  Naples  or  Rome." 

"I  care  not,"  returned  the  sufferer,  wearily,  "only 
let  us  go  away. " 

They  departed  next  day,  not  stopping  at  Rome,  but 
proceeding  first  to  Naples,  where  they  secured  apart- 
ments in  a  hotel  with  windows  and  piazza  overlook- 
ing the  bay. 

Within  two  hours  after  dinner,  the  enterprising  little 
"4Qer"  had  bargained  for  a  gondola,  and  insisted  upon 
having  a  moonlight  ride  on  the  water  famed  for  its 
placid  beauty. 

There  could  be  no  reasonable  objection  to  so  de- 
lightful an  excursion,  and  none  was  offered.  Even 
Walraven  stirred  with  some  show  of  interest  when 


266  DANE    WALRAVEN 

they  went  down  to  the  smooth  beach,  and  looked  out 
dreamily  over  the  wonderful  expanse  of  molten  silver 
which  sent  its  murmuring  ripples  to  his  feet. 

On  that  particular  night,  indeed,  the  bay  was  mag- 
nificent. Its  bosom  trembled  under  the  soft  caresses 
of  the  coast  wind  that  brought  with  it  the  perfumes 
of  Palermo  and  Messina;  it  gave  back  the  thousand 
lights  reflected  in  its  clear  depths  from  the  gayly 
awned  boats  that  moved  hither  and  thither  in  every 
direction  in  picturesque  confusion. 

Mr.  Doolittle  had  been  placed  by  the  side  of  the 
colonel,  while  Agnes  had  seated  herself  at  the  stern 
with  Dane.  Her  vivacity  of  manner  and  piquant  ex- 
clamations soon  drew  him  out  of  himself,  at  least  as 
far  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  banish  the  oppres- 
sion which  had  so  long  weighed  upon  him.  He  loved 
the  beautiful  too  well  not  to  be  fascinated  by  the 
scene  around  him;  while  his  social  disposition  found  a 
refreshing  companionship  in  the  attractive  girl  at  his 
side  who  lacked  neither  wit  nor  intelligence;  who, 
thought  he,  was  certainly  like  no  one  in  the  world  ex- 
cept—  herself. 

As  for  Agnes,  she  was  becoming  more  and  more  in- 
terested in  her  patient.  He  was  not,  after  all,  a 
heartless  villain,  as  she  had  pictured  him  in  her 
thoughts  after  hearing  of  his  desertion  of  his  beautiful 
wife  and  of  the  terrible  consequences  of  his  desertion. 
Of  course  his  sin  had  been  enormous,  but  its  punish- 
ment had  been  swift  and  merciless,  and  besides,  he 
was  absolutely  penitent. 

"The    giving    up  of    that  Eugenie    St.  Leger, "  she 


DANE    WALRAVEN  267 

had  remarked  to  her  father,  "is  a  proof  of  his  sincerity, 
and  there  is  hope  for  him  yet. " 

She  did  not  know  that  it  was  Eugenie  who  had  de- 
termined to  and  who  did  leave  Dane,  and  that  he  had 
only  acquiesced  in  what  she  herself  had  proposed. 
Still,  Dane  had  not  objected,  but  had,  in  his  dazed 
state,  confessed  to  himself  that  he  and  Eugenie  must 
separate;  and  he  had  not  regretted  the  step  for  one 
moment  since.  He  had  answered  Eugenie's  generous 
letter,  after  its  effects  had  partially  left  him,  and  had 
countermanded  her  order  on  her  bank,  telling  her  that 
she  must  keep  the  money  until  she  had  fully  and 
finally  determined  whether  or  not  to  remain  immured, 
and  then  to  use  it  as  she  chose.  She  had  not  answered 
that  letter.  The  past  was  past;  there  was  no  possi- 
bility of  its  resurrection. 

Since  that  parting  at  the  London  station,  his  whole 
regret  had  been  for  his  own  past  misdeeds,  his  sole 
grief  was  for  the  suffering  he  had  caused  his  lost  wife 

It  was  pitiful,  the  way  he  loved  her  now*  His  love 
was  an  agony,  because  it  was  hopeless.  Yet,  withal, 
he  feared  his  wife,  believing  that  she  deliberately 
(such  was  his  queer  expression)  haunted  him  from  be- 
yond the  grave. 

The  second,  and  the  last,  day  in  Naples,  was  de- 
voted to  climbing  Vesuvius,  and  as  there  was  then  no 
railroad  by  which  to  reach  the  summit,  the  task  was 
quite  enough  of  itself  for  one  day.  The  four  advent- 
urers returned  to  their  hotel  delighted  with  their 
somewhat  perilous  excursion,  but  overwhelmed  with 
fatigue.  Agnes  felt  secretly  elated  over  Mr'.  Walra- 


268  DANE    WALRAVEN 

ven's  appearance;  the  color  in  his  cheeks,  though 
faint,  was  .certainly  indicative  of  a  change  for  the 
better  in  his  condition,  and  she  was  secretly  proud  of 
it. 

"I'll  bring  him  around  yet,"  she  told  herself  con- 
fidently, "and — my  eyes,  won't  he  sleep  to-night 
though!  All  the  gray  ghosts  from  kingdom  come 
won't  wake  him,  after  that  mountain.  I  do  think  I 
must  have  dropped  my  reticule  behind  me  a  dozen 
times — yes,  a  baker's  dozen — for  him  to  scramble  down 
after  and  bring  up  to  me.  Oh,  if  I  had  him  out  on 
the  sage  plains,  with  two  or  three  bronchos  to  brtak 
in — m-m-m!"  and  the  young  lady  laughed  merrily  at 
the  picture  her  fancy  drew  of  the  elegant  and  dignified 
Dane  Walraven  mounted  on  a  wild-eyed,  shaggy,  kick- 
ing, ducking,  rearing  broncho  pony,  on  a  California 
ranche! 

But,  up  to  that  moment,  she  had  seen  only  the  velvet 
side  of  Dane  Walraven's  nature.  There  was  another 
side,  the  heroic,  which  she  had  not  seen. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

ON  THE  GRAND  CANAL  AT  VENICE 

"  He  had  lain  dormant  long,  yet  still  he  wrought, 
Like  the  fang'd  python,  venom-fraught, 
Waiting  to  strike."  — The  Conspirators. 

"Dolly,"  said  his  fair  mentor,  as  the  two  sat  together 
on  the  deck  of  the  "Verona,"  with  its  red  and  yellow- 
striped  sails  flapping  above  them,  "we  are  soon  to  be 
within  the  shadow  of  St.  Peter.  Do  you  think  you 
will  come  out  of  it  with  any  genuine  sanctity  about 
you?  " 

"The  solemnity  of  the  place  will  undoubtedly  impress 
me,  Aggie.  When  I  am  sitting  alone  in  one  of  those 
vast  sanctuaries,  I  feel  exceedingly  humble.  I  know, 
then,  my  littleness,  my  helplessness.  With  Job,  I 
exclaim: 

"'Hast  Thou  not  poured  me  out  as  milk,  and  curdled 
me  like  cheese?' 

"Yes,  you  are  a  cheese-head,  Eb.  But  don't  rattle. 
I  want  to  lecture  you  a  few." 

Mr.  Doolittle  looked  concerned.  He  always  felt  ap- 
prehensive of  these  threatened  lectures,  they  were  so 
poignant.  He  raised  his  fat  hand  in  expostulation: 

"'Are  not  my  days  few?'"  he  repeated  from  the  same 
chronic  complainer,  "'cease,  then,  and  let  me  alone 
that  I  ma)'  take  comfort  a  little.' 

269 


270  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Not  until  I  put  a  chin-curb  on  you,  Dolly.  Now, 
pay  attention  to  me:  first,  you  were  a  moralist  and  an 
evangelist,  and  I  found  you  egging  on  the  winners  in 
a  free  fight,  and  I  dragged  you  out  of  it  before  you 
were  scalped;  then,  you  were  a  moralist,  pure  and  sim- 
ple, and  I  caught  you  ogling  the  pretty  mosaic-ped- 
dlers in  Florence,  and  the  black-eyed  flower-girls  in 
Naples;  now,  )rou  are  neither  evangelist  nor  moralist, 
but  a  believer  in  magic  and  spooks  and  witchcraft." 

"There  are  many  things  that  are  past  finding  out," 
gurgled  he,  with  a  look  of  mystery  on  his  round  face. 

"Oh,  you  have  become  infected  by  Mr.  Dane  Wai- 
raven's  vagaries." 

"Poor  fellow, "  reflected  the  victim,  shaking  his  bald 
head  solemnly,  "if  they  are  delusions,  they  are  very 
palpable  in  shape,  Aggie." 

"H-mph;  how  do  you  know?" 

Mr.  Doolittle  leaned  forward,  placed  his  fat  hands  on 
his  fat  knees,  and  bulged  his  pale  blue  eyes  in  a  re- 
markable manner. 

"You,  Dolly!"  cried  Agnes,  stamping  her  foot, 
"what's  the  matter  with  you?1' 

'"Nothing,"  returned  he,  meekly,  receding  at  once. 

"Then,  why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that  tone  of  voice, 
and  act  as  if  you  had  swallowed  a  grape  vine?" 

"Aggie,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman,  heavily  sigh- 
ing, "shall  I  impart  a  secret  to  you?" 

"A  dozen,  if  you  like,  but — no  more  of  those  antics, 
or  I'll  have  you  served  up  as  a  lobster." 

"Aggie,"  he  resumed,  abstractedly,  "/  saw  the  gray 
phantom  myself!" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  271 

"You  saw  it?" 

"Verily,  yes,  or  the  truth  is  not  in  me." 

"Where?" 

"In  the  Boboli  Gardens,"  gasped  Mr.  Doolittle,  for- 
getting, in  the  intensity  of  his  emotions,  that  he  was 
talking  to  an  uncompromising  skeptic  in  such  mat- 
ters. 

"When?"  demanded  she,  with  ominous  quietness, 

"A  minute  after  I  heard  Mr.  Walraven's  cry,"  an- 
swered he,  emboldened  by  her  show  of  interest. 

"Dolly,  you're  a  fool,"  declared  she,  with  very  start- 
ling emphasis.  "You  will  have  to  be — um — suppressed." 

"Let  me  explain,  Aggie,"  pleaded  he,  hoping  to  vin- 
dicate himself. 

"Very  well,  I  will  hear  your  explanation;  and  then 
I  want  you  to  come  to  your  senses  again.  You  are 
decidedly  'off,'  of  late." 

But  when  Mr.  Ebenezer  Doolittle  had  a  conviction, 
it  was  not  easily  shaken.  He  had  one  now,  and  a  well- 
founded  one.  In  a  graphic  and  earnest  way,  he  told 
Agn,es  of  the  cowled  gray  figure  of  a  woman  flitting 
across  the  dark  avenue  in  front  of  the  marble  base, 
whereon  sat  he  waiting  for  Dane;  and  he  concluded 
by  asserting  that  the  face,  only  partly  revealed  to  him, 
was  too  ghastly  to  have  been  human;  it  was  like  that 
of  the  dead. 

Agnes  listened  to  him  with  a  peculiar  interest,  her 
mind  busy  with  speculations  quite  as  peculiar. 

'Just  as  I  said  before,"  she  remarked,  "there  is 
something  behind  it  all,  a  mystery,  and  we  must  find 
the  bottom  of  it." 


272  DANE    WALRAVEN 

The  conversation  ended  here,  for  the  boat  was  now 
entering  the  Tiber,  and  every  one  was  drawn  to  the 
railings.  As  the  historic  shores  closed  in  on  either 
side,  the  mighty  past  rose  again  in  fancy,  invoking 
silence  and  inspiring  reverence. 

A  week  was  spent  in  Rome,  city  of  interminable 
wonders;  and  when  at  length  the  travelers  turned 
their  faces  toward  the  Adriatic,  on  their  way  to  Ven- 
ice, they  sighed  a  farewell  to  the  Eternal  City,  glorious 
even  in  its  ruins. 

On  their  arrival  at  Venice,  which  they  reached  from 
Rome,  overland  to  Ancona,  and  thence  by  sail  on  the 
Adriatic,  our  party  went  directly  to  a  hotel,  where 
they  arranged  for  a  stay  of  one  week. 

One  week  was  once  sufficient  in  duration  for  the 
creation  of  a  world,  according  to  the  best  authority; 
and,  in  the  case  of  our  four  travelers,  one  week  was 
twice  as  long  as  the  Fates  found  necessary  to  weave 
another  strand  in  the  invisible  thread  which  was  lead- 
ing them  on  to  their  various  destinies. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  they  engaged 
a  gondola  for  the  passage  of  the  Grand  Canal,  a  min- 
iature voyage  between  two  continuous  and  ever-vary- 
ing lines  of  marble  walls  which  rise  on  its  liquid  sides 
in  stately  and  beautiful  architecture,  as  far  as  the 
dazzled  vision  reaches. 

Side  by  side,  in  the  black  dolphin,  sat  Dane  and 
Agnes,  the  one  gazing  out  at  the  magnificent  passing 
panorama  with  subdued  enjoyment,  the  other  rippling 
with  mirth,  bubbling  over  with  gayety,  and  constantly, 
to  Dane's  amusement,  sounding  "Dolly,"  who  sat  a 


DANE    WALKAVEN  373 

few  feet  away,  as  to  the  extent  of  his  capacity  to  ap- 
preciate what  he  saw. 

"You  know,  Eb, "  she  asserted,  "that  you  are  aw- 
fully obtuse;  but  I  hope  you  will  at  least  carry  back 
to  America  with  you  a  few  grains  of  information  to 
convince  your  future  flock  that  you  are  not  really  a 
donkey.  There — there,  look  quick,  Dolly,"  suddenly 
pointing  her  taper  finger  at  a  terraced  flight  of  marble 
steps  that  dipped  their  bases  in  the  water,  "there  is 
where  one  of  the  Doges  conspired  against  the  State. 
Do  you  know  who  the  Doges  were,  gumpy?" 

"I  know  what  they  were,  Aggie,"  returned  he,  with 
severe  dignity,  "they  were  magistrates  who  were  con- 
stantly engaged  in  putting  down  the  intrigues  headed 
by  women." 

"Bravo!"  shouted  the  little  tyrant,  clapping  her  hands 
with  excessive  appreciation,  "you'll  do  to  send  to  mar- 
ket yet.  But — hello,  what's  this?" 

She  stooped  to  pick  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  boat 
a  roll  of  paper,  which  at  that  moment  had  been  thrown 
at  her  feet  by  the  occupant  of  a  gondola  which  glided 
past  theirs,  going  in  an  opposite  direction  with  sur- 
prising velocity. 

"Why,  it's  addressed  to  'Dane  Walraven!"1  exclaimed 
she,  holding  it  toward  the  latter,  "who  can  the  man 
be?  Do  you  know  him?" 

Dane  glanced  quickly,  with  a  flashing  presentiment, 
at  the  figure  in  the  flying  boat,  and  uttered  a  cry  of 
astonishment  and  anger. 

"Silas  Thorp!"  he  shouted. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE     HISS    OF    A  SERPENT 

"God! 

Where  shall  I  lay  Thy  tardy  rod 
On  this  coiled  reptile?  " 

— The  Conspirators. 

The  receding  boatman  had  turned  his  face  toward 
Walraven  at  the  sound  of  his  name,  and  as  he  did  so 
he  uttered  a  mocking  laugh.  It  rose  on  the  water  and 
came  to  Dane's  ears  like  the  laugh  of  a  demon,  which 
in  truth  it  was. 

For  an  instant  Dane  sat  as  if  petrified;  then  he  sud- 
denly sprang  into  the  water. 

"Good  heaven,  what  are  you  about!"  screamed 
Agnes,  reaching  over  the  side  of  the  careening  boat, 
and  grasping  him  by  the  collar  of  his  coat  before  he  had 
gone  beyond  reach. 

"Steady!"  warned  the  colonel,  sliding  hastily  to  the 
opposite  side  to  preserve  the  equilibrium  of  the  slen- 
der craft,  "what's  up?" 

The  colonel  had  been  meditating;  he  had  not  been 
following  the  recent  course  of  events  very  closely. 

"Here,  Dolly,  help  pull  him  in,"  cried  Agnes,  tug- 
ging bravely  at  the  struggling  form. 

Dane  had  evidently  jumped  overboard  with  the  in- 
tention of  swimming  after  the  other  boat,  but  it  was 
now  far  distant,  and  it  would  have  been  impossible  to. 

374 


DANE    WALRAVEN  275 

overtake  it.  He  therefore  allowed  himself  to  be  hauled 
back  into  his  own,  very  pale,  and  in  a  most  excited 
state,  while  the  water  poured  in  a  stream  from  his  gar- 
ments. 

"What  on  earth  possessed  you?"  demanded  Agnes, 
savagely. 

"It  is  he!"  gasped  the  half-drowned  man,  leaning 
against  the  seat,  and  straining  his  eyes  toward  the 
vanishing  gondola. 

"He,  he,  he,  who  is   'he'?" 

Agnes  had  no  idea  of  the  identity  of  Silas  Thorp; 
she  had  not  even  distinctly  heard  it,  although  Dane 
had  but  just  screamed  it  into  her  ears  when  he  plunged 
overboard. 

Dane  raised  himself,  at  the  question,  and  with  a 
terrible  flame  lighting  his  eyes,  said  in  a  steady  voice: 

"That  man  murdered  my  wife's  father.  He  is  also 
the  son  of  a  man  who,  with  the  assistance  of  another, 
murdered  my  mother  and  father. 

"In  the  selfishness  of  my  grief  and  remorse,  I  had 
forgotten  for  a  time  the  duty  I  owe  to  the  innocent 
dead;  but  the  sight  of  that  wretch  has  recalled  me  to 
a  full  sense  of  it.  From  this  hour  I  shall  devote  my- 
self to  the  pursuit  of  the  fiends  who  have  destroyed 
my  kindred.  This  one  has  come  to  me;  God  grant 
that  he  may  not  now  escape  me." 

Not  a  word  had  been  spoken  while  Walraven  made 
this  explanation;  but  those  who  listened  to  it  were 
none  the  less  painfully  impressed.  The  colonel's  in- 
terest was  almost  as  manifest  as  his  daughter's,  whose 
eyes  were  flashing  with  indignation,  horror,  and  ex- 


276  DANE    WALRAVEN 

• 

ci lenient.  "Can  there  be  such  monsters  among  white 
men?"  exclaimed  she;  red  men,  in  her  experience  of 
the  western  fronties,  being  capable  of  anything  mon- 
strous. 

The  colonel  held  out  his  muscular  hand  to    Dane. 

"Mr.Walraven,"  said  he,  warmly,  "you  shall  not  go 
alone.  I  will  help  you  in  the  hunt.  When  shall  we 
move?" 

"Let  us  get  ashore  as  soon  as  possible,  my  friend," 
responded  Dane,  gratefully  pressing  the  extended  hand, 
and  trying  hard  to  subdue  his  excitement;  "the  mur- 
derer, you  see,  is  in  Venice.  We  will  at  once  seek  the 
authorities,  and  if  possible  obtain  their  aid  in  unearth- 
ing him." 

The  colonel  shook  his  head. 

"I  doubt  very  much  if  we  get  much  help  from  them," 
said  he,  "all  those  crimes  were  committed  in  America 
and  England,  and  it  isn't  likely  there  will  be  a  great 
deal  of  interest  felt  here." 

"Then  we  shall  use  gold,"  returned  Walraven. 

Suddenly,  Agnes  thought  of  the  little  roll  of  paper. 
It  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  where  it  had  fallen 
from  her  hand.  She  gave  it  to  Dane,  and  with  nervous 
fingers  he  opened  it,  and  read : 

"It  was  I  who  contrived  to  throw  my  cousin  in  your 
path,  knowing  your  amiable  weakness  and  her  power. 
She  met  you,  and  you  fell.  That  was  what  I  desired. 

'I  might  have  been  satisfied  with  your  downfall  and 
the  death  of  }'our  wife,  perhaps,  had  you  not  wrecked 
Eugenie's  life;  and  while  I  remember  that,  you  have 
consoled  yourself  with  another  victim. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  277 

- 

"I  shall  not  lose  sight  of  you.  And  there  is  another 
who  follows  you,  witness  of  everything  you  do,  who 
will  be  near  when  you  breathe  your  last — to  curse  you. 

"I  am  going  to  Paris.  I  shall  remain  there  long 
enough  to  transact  some  business  for  Eugenie,  who  has 
taken  up  her  abode  on  a  summit  of  the  Jura  Mount- 
ains at  the  foot  of  which  runs  the  road  to  Geneva, 
coming  from  Dijon.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see 
her  again;  you  will  find  her  in  the  little  convent,  over- 
looking the  French  village  which  lies  at  the  base  of 
the  spur.  The  villagers  will  direct  you  to  the  place; 
they  call  her  a  saint.  » 

"When  you  come  there  you  will  find  me.  And  you 
will  also  find  that  other,  who  waits  to  curse  you! 

"In  the  meantime,  do  not  forget  that  it  was  Silas 
Thorp  who  killed  your  guardian,  the  father  of  yo~ur 
wife.  Do  not  forget  that  Joel  Thorp  is  my  father.  You 
are  not  a  coward  and  you  will  follow  on,  tracking  me 
to  the  end,  as  I  shall  track  you.  We  shall  meet  once 
more;  then,  the  last  act — your  death  or  mine!" 

"So  be  it!  "  were  the  three  stern  words  that  fell  from 
Dane's  lips  as  he  read  the  last  words,  and  re-folded  the 
paper.  He  sat  for  some  moments  absorbed  in  thought, 
then  said,  as  the  gondola  grated  against  the  marble 
steps  of  a  landing: 

"We  will  leave  Venice  to-morrow,  if  you  will." 

"For  what  place?"  asked  Colonel  Blount. 

"For  Paris — unless  we  come  upon  the  man  sooner 
and  nearer,"  replied  Dane,  stepping  ashore. 

He  turned  to  assist  Agnes  out  of  the  boat,  and  she, 
looking  into  his  eyes,  said  unconsciously: 

"He  has  a  terrible  mission! '' 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

AGAIN  THE  SHROUD  OF  GRAY! 

Silas  Thorp  was  not  again  seen  in  Venice.  Search 
was  made  for  him,  even  after  the  departure  of  the  Wai- 
raven  party,  and  every  effort  made  to  unearth  him, 
without  avail. 

Meantime,  our  travelers  had  started  on  their  way, 
going  by  voiture,  a  sort  of  diligence,  to  Bologna  and 
Leghorn.  At  the  latter  city  they  were  to  take  boat  for 
Marseilles,  and  thence  proceed  north  by  diligence  or 
chaise. 

The  journey  to  Marseilles  was  made  without  inci- 
dent or  delay,  and  on  arriving  there  they  were  fortu- 
nate to  find  at  the  post-house  a  six-horse  English  chaise 
which  had  corne  down  the  day  before  from  Orleans, 
and  which  they  engaged  for  a  round  consideration,  to 
take  them  as  far  as  that  city,  where  they  would  have 
no  difficulty  in  procuring  any  kind  of  conveyance  they 
might  desire  for  the  remainder  of  their  journey. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  left  Mar- 
seilles, and  it  was  decided  that  a  stop  over  night  should 
be  made  at  Nismes,  whose  remarkable  ruins  Agnes 
and  her  father  were  curious  to  examine. 

Night  had  already  closed  in  when  the  postilion 
sprang  down  from  his  box  in  front  of  the  "Horn"  inn, 
but  the  four  passengers  had  enjoyed  the  ride  with  zest, 

278 


DANE    WALRAVEN  279 

and  were  in  excellent  spirits  and  condition.  A  smok- 
ing supper  was  served  them,  after  which  they  fell  to 
discussing  their  route  among  the  ruins.  The  moon- 
light would  enable  them  to  see  distinctly,  and  Agnes 
declared  it  should  not  be  lost  to  them. 

"What  will  you  do  with  it,  Agnes?"  asked  her 
father,  deferring  as  usual  to  her  disposition  of  his 
time. 

"We  will  go  and  see  the  Roman  nymphaeum,  and 
the  amphitheater,  and  the  temple,  and  the  rest;  they 
will  look  actually  weird  in  this  white  light.  And  per- 
haps some  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  will  be  abroad, 
to  tell  us  who  the  bathers  were — in  the  pool  presided 
over  by  Diana.  I  wouldn't  miss  a  conversation  with 
one  of  'em  for  a  dozen  nights'  sleep,  would  you, 
Dolly?" 

But  Dolly  glanced  at  Dane  and  said  nothing.  Agues 
turned  her  eyes  in  the  same  direction,  and  saw  a  startled 
look  in  his  face,  then  a  sober  shadow  settling  over  it, 
while  he  sat  vacantly  staring  out  into  the  night.  In- 
stantly she  turned  the  conversation;  but  Dane  himself 
renewed  the  subject  of  the  proposed  night-excursion. 

"I  think  your  suggestion  is  a  delightful  one,  Miss 
Agnes,"  he  said,  gravely,  "and  the  scene  will  certainly 
be  much  more  picturesque  by  moonlight;  besides,  we 
can  start  on  our  journey  so  much  earlier  than  if  we 
make  the  visit  in  the  morning." 

He  spoke  like  an  automaton;  and  as  he  concluded, 
he  rose  and  left  the  room,  saying: 

"I  will  get  my  walking  stick,  and  join  you  all  in 
the  yard,  in  a  few  minutes." 


28o  DANE   WALRAVEN 

Mr.  Doolittle's  eyes  followed  him  curiously. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Dolly?"  demanded  Ag- 
nes, sharply. 

Dolly  shook  his  head  and  said,  sepulchrally: 

"Didn't  you  notice  his  look?  He's  got  a  warning 
of  something." 

"Fiddlesticks;  what  do  you  mean?"  cried  she,  im- 
patiently. 

"He  expects  something  to  come  of  it,"  explained  the 
preacher,  vaguely. 

Agnes  laughed  satirically. 

"Apparitions  of  Caesar's  road-builders,  eh?" 

"No,"  returned  Mr.  Doolittle,with  another  lugubrious 
wabble  of  his  head,  "something  much  more  modern, 
more  familiar.  I  know  him;  and  I  tell  you  what, 
Aggie,  his  presentiments  are  not  to  be  laughed  at; 
they  mean  something." 

But  Miss  Blount  scouted  the  notion  of  anything  su- 
pernatural being  possible. 

"He's  morbid  and  nervous, "  she  declared,  decisively, 
"and  we  should  not  humor  his  strange  fancies.  Pretty 
soon  he  will  be  afraid  to  sleep  in  the  dark,  and  will 
have  to  take  a  nurse.  Don't  mope  there,  Doll)7,  get 
up,  you  and  pop,  and  be  ready;  I'll  have  my  wraps  on 
in  a  minute,"  and  Agnes  tripped  out  of  the  room,  leav- 
ing Mr.  Doolittle  still  shaking  his  head,  and  playing 
idly  with  the  fringe  on  his  chair. 

The  marble  and  brick  walls  constructed  by  the  Ro- 
mans in  the  form  of  baths  and  temples,  centuries  be- 
fore the  occupation  of  Nismes  by  the  Franks,  were  of 
so  durable  a  character  as  to  outlive  their  history,  and 


DANE    WALRAVEN  28l 

to  withstand  the  inroads  of  time,  the  attacks  of  bar- 
barian soldiery,  the  attempts  of  .spoliators  through 
scores  of  generations,  to  the  extent,  at  least,  of  leaving 
fragmentary  evidences  of  their  ancient  beauty  and  ele- 
gance. The  remains,  at  the  date  of  this  visit,  were 
still  of  sufficient  importance  to  render  them  interesting 
to  the  archaeologist  and  tourist.  The  amphitheater 
was  situated  in  a  lonely  and  deserted  portion  of  the 
environs,  almost  concealed  by  tangled  undergrowth 
and  groups  of  forest  trees,  requiring  considerable  pa- 
tience and  more  or  less  stooping  to  get  within  its  cir- 
cuit. 

These  difficulties,  however,  were  but  trifles  to  Ag- 
nes, who  darted  into  the  cavern-like  recesses  with  the 
fearlessness  of  an  Indian,  paying  very  little  attention 
to  the  fact  that  the  others  were  being  left  behind.  In 
fact,  they  were  contending  very  deliberately  with  the  in- 
tricate lace-work  of  branches  and  vines  which  disputed 
their  passage,  the  preacher  in  particular  finding  the 
obstructions  in  his  path  worse  than  nettles  and  tares. 
Suddenly  the  moon,  which  had  been  until  now  with- 
out a  cloud,  became  obscure,  a  thick  haze  settled  over 
its  face,  and  objects  could  be  seen  only  at  a  short  dis- 
tance. In  the  glade-like  covert  into  which  Agnes  had 
so  Boldly  plunged,  only  outlines  were  now  visible. 
For  several  minutes  nothing  had  been  heard  from  the 
adventurous  girl,  and  her  father  was  about  to  call  her 
name,  when  out  of  the  gloom  in  which  she  had  been 
lost  there  came  the  sound  of.  a  voice.  It  was  a  strange, 
tense  sound,  as  of  one  speaking,  from  some  far-off 
height,  words  of  reproach  and  sorrow. 


282  DANE    WALRAVEN 

For  the  space  of  a  second,  the  thtee  men  stood  en- 
tranced, listening  without  moving  a  limb;  and  while 
they  listened  they  heard  these  words,  uttered  by  the 
same  strange  voice,  as  if  directed  toward  them: 

"Go  tell  him — I  am  his  wife,  on  earth,  and  beyond 
the  earth!" 

Then  there  came  an  awful  cry  from  Dane  Walraven. 
Into  the  air  his  white  hands  were  flung,  and  with  his 
head  thrown  back — until  to  those  in  front  of  him  it 
seemed  to  have  left  his  bodv-  he  gasped,  as  he  fell: 

"Lost!   Lost— and  damned!" 

With  his  face  to  the  earth,  he  lay  motionless  in  the 
same  condition  in  which  the  preacher  had  found  him 
in  the  Boboli  Gardens. 

At  that  instant,  Agnes'  pale  face  gleamed  out  through 
the  drooping  foliage;  it  parted  before  her,  and  she 
stood  before  the  little  group,  panting,  wild-eyed,  and 
dumb. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

THE   BOX  IN   NUMBER  26    RUE  DU  MAIL 

The  distance  from  Nismes  to  Paris  is  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  French  leagues.  You  start  north- 
wardly out  of  the  ancient  town  with  vine  and  olive- 
clad  hills  on  the  one  side,  and  on  the  other  fertile 
fields  of  grain,  leaving  behind  you  the  ruins  of  the 
Maison  Quarree,  now  almost  obliterated  in  part,  the 
Roman  amphitheater,  the  exquisite  nymphseum,  lost 
among  a  cluster  of  little  houses.  Involuntarily,  at  the 
last  turn  of  the  road,  when  you  are  about  to  lose  sight 
of  the  town  finally,  you  gaze  back  once  more  with  the 
recollection  that  you  are  looking  back  at  a  city  six 
hundred  years  older  than  Rome,  and  which  was  once 
one  of  the  largest  in  Europe. 

The  Walraven  party  had  hurried  away  from  Nismes 
on  the  morning  following  the  scene  in  the  ruined  am- 
phitheater, Dane  persisting  in  going  on  immediately. 

Agnes  had  explained  this  much  of  the  singular  inci 
dent. 

While  she  was  making  her  way  into  the  midst  of 
the  debris  a  woman  in  gray,  with  a  gray  hood  over  her 
head  and  partly  concealing  her  face,  had  emerged  with- 
out noise  from  the  shrubbery  behind,  suddenly  con- 
fronting her  with  a  face  like  that  of  a  corpse,  but  with 
eyes  like  those  of  an  insane  person  excited  to  fury. 

283 


284  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"I  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  her,  when  she 
lifted  her  finger,  and  pointing  it  at  me,  said: 

"Go  where  you  will,  I  will  follow  you — you  and  him. 
Neither  shall  escape;  I  will  haunt  you  both,  forever 
and  ever!" 

"I  tell  you,  pop,  I  was  startled.  I  felt  about  the 
same  way  when  we  all  woke  up  that  night  in  Muder's 
dug-out,  and  saw  those  five  redskins  stealing  in.  But 
I  rallied  in  a  second,  and  asked  her: 

"'Where  do  you  come  from?' 

"Her  answer  chilled  me:  'I  come  from  the  embers 
of  my  grave.  I  was  dead,  but  I  have  risen.' 

"Then,  with  the  movement  of  a  snake,  she  darted 
away,  calling  back  to  me  the  message  you  heard,  and 
which  floored  Mr.  Walraven. 

"But  I  am  convinced  that  we  shall  meet  her  again," 
Agnes  concluded,  "and  when  we  do,  I  mean  to  solve 
the  whole  mystery  right  there  on  the  spot. " 

Dane,  after  being  dragged  to  the  "Horn,"  had  re- 
gained consciousness,  and  had  staggered  to  bed,  only 
to  mutter  again  and  again  in  the  ears  of  the  preacher, 
who  sat  all  night  watching  at  his  bedside: 

"Lost,  lost,  lost!" 

He  was  out  of  his  chamber  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, wandering  restlessly  about  the  stable-yard,  pale 
and  dejected,  peering  strangely  at  every  passing  stran- 
ger, as  if  he  expected  each  moment  to  meet  the  one 
he  feared  the  most  on  earth  or  beyond  it  — his  wife. 

When  the  heavy  chaise  rumbled  out  of  the  inn-yard, 
it  bore  four  sober-faced  passengers,  not  one  of  whom 
could  have  foretold  the  events  that  were  now  near  at 
hand. 


DANE    WALRAVEN  285 

Nothing  transpired  to  startle  them,  during  the  re- 
mainder of  their  journey;  on  the  contrary,  the  ride  was 
both  fatiguing  and  monotonous,  and  every  one  felt 
relieved  when  the  barriers  were  passed,  and  the  coach 
entered  the  St.  Michel. 

But  here  they  met  with  a  mishap,  which  singularly 
led  to  the  very  trail  they  were  in  seach  of.  A  butcher's 
cart  collided  with  the  chaise,  tearing  off  one  of  the 
front  wheels  and  bringing  the  entire  party  .to  the  ground, 
but  without  injury. 

As  they  stood  surveying  the  wreck,  a  dapper  little 
commissionaire  came  running  up,  and  assisted,  without 
being  asked,  in  unloading  the  luggage,  and  several 
parcels  belonging  to  Agnes,  who  had  made  some  sort 
of  purchase  in  every  town  where  they  had  stopped  to 
change  horses. 

The  little  fellow  was  extremely  voluble. 

"We  will  take  these  things  to  the  parcel  office," 
said  he,  "it  is  not  far;  the  Rue  du  Mail,  it  is  there 
that  such  things  are  left  to  be  sent  wherever  the  owners 
desire,  do  you  see?" 

"And  a  hotel?  Can  you  direct  us  to  one?"  inquired 
the  colonel,  as  soon  as  he  could  head  off  the  stream  of 
the  Frenchman's  chatter. 

"Oui,  oui,  messieurs,"  quickly  responded  he;  "but 
let  us  first  go  to  the  Hotel  des  Chiens,  and  leave  these 
things ;  then  when  I  have  shown  messieurs  the  best 
hotels  in  Paris,  I  will  return  for  them,  you  will  see." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  seized  two  of  the 
pieces  and  started  off,  the  rest  meekly  following  with 
as  much  as  they  could  carry.  On  the  way  to  the  parcel 
office,  the  little  fellow  rattled  off  a  list  of  names. 


286  DANE    VVALRAVEN 

"There  is  the  Hotel  de  Saxe,  Rue  de  Columbier;  the 
Hotel  d'York,  Rue  Jacob;  the  Hotel  d'Etrangers,  Rue 
de  Tournon;  all  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  Oh,  you 
will  see!  There  is  M.  Roche's,  Rue  Montorgueil, 
where  a  dinner  costs  a  louis.  Yes,  and  Monsieur  Le 
Pretre's,  Rue  St.  Honore,  where  the  waiters  are  all 
Spanish;  and  Monsieur  Foco's,  Pare  Royal,  he  who 
was  a  colonel  before  he  opened  a  traiteur;  and  there  is 
another  in  the  Rue  de  Tournon,  near  the  Luxembourg, 
where  Englishmen  go  for  those  great  thick  mutton 
chops — " 

"Stop — monkey!"  cried  Agnes,  exasperated  by  his 
astounding  flow  of  information,  "we  shall  believe  di- 
rectly, that  one-half  of  Paris  is  composed  of  soup- 
houses,  and  one-half  its  population  cooks!" 

"Oui,  oui,  mademoiselle,"  responded  the  irrepress- 
ible, "and  here  we  are." 

As  they  entered  the  office  Agnes  glanced  with  some 
curiosity  at  the  innumerable  packages,  boxes,  bags, 
and  miscellaneous  articles  which  almost  choked  the 
entrance.  Suddenly  she  stopped,  and  stooped  over  a 
leathern  bag,  on  the  side  of  which  was  painted  a 
name. 

"Pop,  come  here!"  cried  she,  excitedly;  and  as  the 
colonel  turned  toward  her,  she  read  in  a  very  loud 
voice: 

"Silas  Thorp,  London!" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Dane,  with  a  rush  at  the  bag,  which 
he  fairly  stumbled  over,  in  his  eagerness  to  satisfy 
himself  that  she  had  read  the  name  aright. 

But  the  hated  name  was    there,    and    of    course   its 


DANE    WALRAVEN  287 

owner  was  in  Paris.  A  hurried  inquiry  elicited  the 
information  that  the  bag  had  been  left  there  early  in 
the  morning,  and  that  it  was  to  be  forwarded  to  a 
number  in  an  obscure  street,  which  the  obliging  clerk, 
with  an  eye  upon  Agnes,  glibly  disclosed  to  Walraven, 
who  could  hardly  contain  his  impatience. 

As  they  left  the  office  they  did  not  observe  a'man's 
figure  gliding  past  them  with  a  malignant  scowl  on  his 
face.  But  he  hastily  entered  the  office,  took  up  the 
bag,  and  said  to  the  clerk: 

"Get  me  a  fiacre,  quick.  I  will  take  this  with  me. 
I  am  in  a  great  hurry." 

The  clerk  darted  out  of  the  door,  hailed  a  passing 
"whip,"  and  as  the  man,  who  was  none  other  than 
Silas  himself,  sprang  into  the  fiacre,  he  beckoned  the 
driver  to  him. 

"Do  you  see  those  four  persons  walking  away?" 

'Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  the  driver,  glancing  after 
them. 

"Very  good.  Well,  you  will  drive  slowly  behind 
them,  until  they  enter  a  hotel;  then  you  will  stop. 
Do  not  lose  sight  of  them  for  an  instant,  if  you 
would  earn  a  double  fare.  ' 

When  the  fiacre  started,  Silas  leaned  back  in  his 
seat,  drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  muttered: 

"It  is  not  in  Paris  that  we  shall  meet  again;  but  I 
mean  to  lure  him  to  a  very  different  place,  and  then — 
the  end!" 


CHAPTER.  XLIX 

A  LETTER  OF  REVELATION  FOR  DANE 

"The  end  draws  near;  but  ere  the  closing  scene 
Rounds  this  brief  drama,  I'll  prepare  a  feast 
At  whose  full  board  Vengeance  shall  sup." 

•»  — The  Conspirators. 

A 

Walraven  and  his  friends  had  taken  apartments  in 
the  Hotel  de  Tours,  Rue  du  Paon,  then  much  fre- 
quented by  English  gentlemen;  and  here,  after  a  brief 
rest  and  a  comfortable  meal,  they  gathered  in  the  par- 
lor for  a  quiet  council. 

Silas  Thorp  was  now  the  sole  subject  of  their 
thoughts  and  conversation. 

"The  box  said  Hotel  de  Picardie, "  observed  Agnes, 
"and  we  ought  to  send  there,  or  go,  one  of  us." 

"One  of  us,  and  we  are  how  many?"  chirped  Mr. 
Doolittle,  amused  at  her  expression. 

"Take  care,  Polly,"  retorted  she,  "you  are  trying  to 
crack  a  joke,  and  it  may  fracture  your  skull." 

"But  you  know,  Aggie,  that  ladies  do  not  go  out 
alone  in  Paris,"  ventured  Dolly. 

"Oh.  Don't  they?  Well,  that  explains  the  conduct 
of  those  two  tender-foot  Johnnies  who  followed  us  all 
the  way  to  the  hotel.  It  was  because  I  walked  alone. 
One  of  them  was  a  character.  I  declare,  it  gave  me 
the  colic  whenever  I  looked  at  his  blue  gills.  And 
that  chummy  of  his!  Queer  varmint,  wasn't  he?  He 

288 


DANE    WALKAVEN  289 

had  the  cinch  on  the  dude,  though.  I  do  believe  he 
puts  a  drop  of  brandy  on  Dudy's  tongue  every  morn- 
ing to  keep  him  from  having  'conniptions.  I  suppose 
he's  the  guardian  of  the  other  monkey.  Well,  I  wouldn't 
mind  using  a  riding  whip  on  a  few  of  the  class.  But 
— who  will  go  to  the  Picardie?" 

"I  shall  go,  as  soon  as  it  is  quite  dark,"  replied 
Walraven,  looking  out  through  the  stained  window  at 
the  deepening  twilight. 

"And  suppose  he  is  there,  what  will  you  do?"  asked 
Colonel  Blount. 

"I  shall  not  alarm  him,  but  will  hasten  to  the  pre- 
fect," responded  he,  quietly. 

At  dusk  he  went  to  the  address,  but  was  told  that 
no  such  person  had  stopped  there.  Disappointed,  he 
returned  to  his  friends. 

"What  shall  we  do  now?"  inquired  Mr.  Doolittle, 
sorrowfully  watching  the  gloomy  face  of  Walraven. 

"We  must  search  further;  he  is  in  Paris,"  returned 
he,  with  a  compression  of  the  lips. 

But  a  messenger  was  at  that  moment  approaching 
the  parlor  with  the  very  information  he  was  seeking. 

"Please,  messieurs,"  said  the  servant  who  entered 
the  room  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  "here  is  a  billet  for 
Monsieur  Walraven." 

Dane  took  the  letter,  uttered  an  exclamation,  and 
tore  open  its  covering. 

"It  is  from  Silas  Thorp  himself!"  cried  he,  in  an 
agitated  voice,  and,  as  he  rapidly  scanned  it — "He 
has  stated  all  that  we  wish  to  know,  and  more— - ' 

His  words  were  cut  short  by  a  cry,  and  he  fell  to 
the  floor,  holding  the  letter  tightly  in  his  hand. 


2QO  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"He  is  getting  to  be  as  squeamish  as  a  woman," 
grumbled  the  colonel,  as  he  bent  over  the  prostrate 
man,  whose  lips  were  frothing. 

"You  can't  blame  him  this  time,"  exclaimed  Agnes, 
who  had  taken  the  letter  from  Dane's  grasp,  and  had 
hurriedly  read  it.  "Listen  to  this: 

"'This  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  write  your  hated 
name.  You  have  been  following  me  that  you  might 
hand  me  over  to  the  hounds  of  the  law.  Well,  I  have 
not  gone  in  another  direction,  as  you  know,  but  have 
kept  you  in  sight,  because  I  had  a  purpose  in  running 
you  down.  I  start  to-morrow  for  Geneva;  and  I  shall 
stop  at  the  miserable  habitation  on  the  mountain,  be- 
fore leaving  France.  If  you  would  meet  me,  come 
to  that  place.  We  will  then  settle  all  scores  between 
us. 

"You  will  also  meet  two  women  there;  one  is  Eu- 
genie, who  has  sought  in  those  wild  solitudes  a  place 
for  her  intolerable  sorrows  to  spend  themselves.  The 
other  woman  is — your  wife. 

"'Yes,  your  wife! 

"'The  time  has  come  when  you  may  know  the  truth. 
She  did  not  die,  although  she  was  put  in  the  tomb 
to  which  your  treachery  and  guilt  consigned  her.  The 
earthquake  shocked  her  into  life;  she  escaped  from 
the  burning  ruins  of  the  vault,  fled  to  Southampton, 
with  partially  shattered  reason,  and  took  passage  on  a 
vessel  upon  which  my  father  and  Jem  Crouch  had 
snipped  as  sailors.  They  took  good  care  to  tell  her 
of  your  liaisons.  They  told  her  you  were  traveling 
with  Eugenie;  then,  that  you  had  fitted  up  a  dove's 


DANE    WALRAVEN  2QI 

nest  for  her  in  London;  later,  that  you  had  thrown 
Eugenie  off,  and  were  traveling  with  another  American 
girl,  Agnes  Blount.  It  was  I  who  offered  to  prove  to 
her  the  truth,  I  led  her  after  you  from  place  to  place, 
until  she  became  convinced  of  your  heartless  deprav- 
ity; then  I  persuaded  her  to  go  to  Eugenie.  She  has 
given  up  hope,  once  more,  and  she  loathes  you.  But 
you  will  see  her,  you  will  hear  her  curse  you;  and  then 
— you  shall  die!  I  have  sworn  it.  Meet  me,  if  you 
dare  to,  at  the  convent.'" 

When  Dane  recovered  from  his  swoon,  he  was  clam- 
orous for  an  immediate  departure;  but  that  was  im- 
possible; they  must  wait  until  the  morrow. 

"A  barge  leaves  the  quay  at  seven  in  the  morning," 
said  the  colonel,  "we  can  take  that  to  Auxerre — " 

"A  barge?  By  no  means,"  objected  Dane;  "we  must 
have  horses,  and  good  ones." 

The  colonel  did  not  argue  the  matter  then,  but  later, 
he  persuaded  Dane  of  the  advisability  of  beginning 
with  horses  at  Auxerre. 

"If  we  ride,"  observed  he,  glancing  at  the  preacher, 
"we  shall  be  obliged  to  leave  Mr.  Doolittle  behind." 

"That  will  make  no  difference,"  promptly  remarked 
the  latter,  "I  can  follow  on;  I  would  be  a  burden  to 
you,  even  if  I  could  ride  a  horse." 

"Or  an  ass,  like  Baalam,"  suggested  Agnes,  saucily. 

"Verily,  yes,"  confessed  he,  meekly.  "But  then,  I 
shall  have  you  to  take  care  of,  and  we  can  journey 
quite  comfortably  together." 

"Have  me  to  take  care  of!  Oh,  you  comical!" 
screamed  Agnes,  with  a  startling  explosion  of  mirth. 


2Q2  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"Well,  Eb,  I  shall  leave  you  to  bring  up  the  rear  of 
the  procession  with  the  small  pieces  of  baggage,  while 
I  go  to  take  care  of  pop  and  Mr.  Walraven. " 

Mr.  Doolittle's  eyes  opened  wide  with  amazement. 

"What!"  exclaimed  he,  "you  surely  do  not  intend  to 
ride  a  beast  from  Paris  to  the  Swiss  frontier,  and 
climb  those  fearful  mountains  besides?" 

"Just  so,  Ebby.  And  when  I  arrive  at  Geneva  I 
shall  have  an  enormous  appetite,  and  I  want  you  to 
have  rooms  ready  for  us  at  the  best  inn,  and  a  square 
meal  for  four.  And  3^ou  are  to  be  on  the  lookout  for 
my  mule  and  me,  so  you  had  better  start  by  post  as 
soon  as  we  leave  in  the  morning." 

Mr.  Doolittle  sank  back  in  his  chair,  a  prey  to  his 
own  peculiar  emotions,  and  said  nothing  more  during 
the  evening. 

At  the  Quai  d'Orsay,  next  morning,  Agnes  turned  to 
him  with  an  air  of  protection,  and  said: 

"Now,  Dolly,  I  shall  expect  you  to  turn  up  all  right 
in  Geneva.  I  shall  also  require  you  to  account  for 
every  hour  of  the  time  between  now  and  then.  Keep 
.your  eyes  off  the  grisettes;  they  are  too  cute  for  you. 
If  you  should  make  an  evening  of  it  with  one  of  them, 
you  would  be  lost,  as  sure  as  you  are  a  lamb!  Even 
I  could  not  find  you  again.  Now,  good-bye,  old  boy; 
go  to  roost  early  and  say  your  prayers  regularly. " 

The  amiable  evangelist  looked  sorrowfully  after  the 
receding  boat  as  it  labored  out  of  the  slip,  and  mur- 
mured reflectively: 

"Ah,  this  western  energy!  " 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  "THREE  CANDLESTICKS"  AT   AUXERRE 

Auxerre,  a  dirty  town  thirty-three  leagues  from 
Paris,  abounding  in  churches,  and  conspicuous  one 
hundred  years  ago  as  containing  the  finest  ecclesiastic 
palace  in  France,  lies  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  was 
formerly  reached,  except  in  cases  where  great  dis- 
patch was  urgent,  by  barges  (from  Paris)  drawn  by 
ten  horses.  It  was  therefore  a  very  sleepy  town,  and 
its  citizens,  forty  years  ago,  were  generally  locked  in- 
side their  shuttered  houses  when  the  bishop's  bell 
sounded  ten  strokes. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  hour,  on  a  November  night, 
that  three  men  came  up  from  the  banks  of  the  Yonne, 
and  entered,  without  being  observed,  the  ancient  inn 
of  the  Three  Candlesticks. 

The  landlord  was  at  once  requested  to  show  them  to 
a  large  room,  where  they  could  have  perfect  privacy, 
and  was  instructed  to  have  them  called  at  exactly  five 
in  the  morning. 

Left  to  themselves,  with  several  candles  illumining 
the  mildewed  walls,  the  well-worn  furniture,  and  the 
dark  faces  of  the  trio,  they  drew  their  chairs  together, 
and  were  soon  engaged  in  a  conversation  so  absorb- 
ing as  to  render  them  totally  oblivious  of  their  sur- 
roundings. 

293 


294  DANE    WALRAVEN 

The  house  was  very  still  and  very  dark  when  these 
men  arrived,  but  there  was  one  very  wide-awake  indi- 
vidual, beside  themselves,  in  their  near  vicinity  when 
they  asked  for  a  room. 

This  person  was  a  traveler  also,  and  had  taken  a 
sleeping  apartment  an  hour  before,  giving  no  name, 
and  leaving  no  instructions  with  the  landlord  to  be 
roused  in  the  morning.  First  going  to  his  room,  he 
had  sat  by  the  window,  looking  steadily  toward  the 
river;  and  when  the  three  strangers  appeared  in  the 
street  below,  he  had  put  out  his  light,  thrust  his  feet 
in  a  pair  of  felt  shoes,  and  softly  descended  the  stairs, 
which  were  quite  dark.  In  the  passage  below,  there 
was  a  small  closet  opening  into  it,  in  the  inner  wall  of 
which  was  a  diminutive  window,  intended  to  receive 
light  from  the  large  room  on  the  other  side,  and  with 
glazing  on  the  small  panes  of  glass. 

Into  this  closet  the  stranger  quietly  slipped,  leav- 
ing the  door  slightly  ajar,  and  there  remained  until 
the  three  arrivals  were  consigned  to  an  apartment. 
The  one  given  them  was  the  large  room  just  men- 
tioned; and  as  soon  as  they  were  inside,  the  stranger 
emerged  from  the  closet,  went  to  the  stable-yard,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  returned  with  a  stout  young  groom. 
These  two  now  entered  the  closet,  closing  the  door  and 
bolting  it  from  within. 

The  three  men  in  the  large  room  were  seated  at  a 
table  directly  under  the  little  closet-window,  with 
their  backs  to  the  wall.  Had  they  been  facing  it,  they 
might  have  seen  two  clear  spots,  of  about  an  inch 
each,  in  diameter,  gradually  appear  at  the  bottom  of 


DANE    WALRAVEN  295 

two  of  the  panes  of  glass,  and  then  two  eyes  gluing 
themselves  to  the  spots  and  steadily  regarding  them 
during  the  whole  of  the  hour  or  more  in  which  they 
sat  in  council. 

The  three  men  were  Joel  Thorp,  his  son  Silas,  and 
Jem  Crouch;  and,  with  a  knowledge  of  past  events,  the 
reader  will  easily  divine  what  had  now  brought  them 
together. 

"Let's  'ave  some  'alf  and  'alf,  ef  we've  got  to  have 
such  a  long  confab,"  suggested  Joel,  who  looked 
jaded,  as  if  he  had  traveled  fast  and  far. 

"No,"  objected  his  son,  frowning,  "we  don't  want 
any  muddled  brains  here  to-night.  You  can  make  a 
night  of  it  after  the  work  is  done,  if  you  choose." 

"Wery  well,  Sile, "  sighed  the  parent,  resignedly, 
"yure  the  manager.  I  allus  said  )rou  had  the  brains  o' 
the  whole  fam'ly,  not  incloodin'  yure  poor  mother, 
her  loss  we  mourn." 

"And  Ann,  you  forget  Ann,"  sneered  Crouch,  "she 
had  convictions,  if  I  am  not  mistaken." 

Joel's  one  eye  was  almost  extinguished  by  a  scowl. 

"Ann  were  a  traitor,"  growled  he,  "an'  I  do  not  no 
longer  wabble  around  no  more  on  her  account  as  I 
used  ter;  howsomever,  she  were  a  woman  of  extr'o'nery 
conwictions,  I  don't  deny  it." 

"Never  mind  that  now,"  interposed  Silas,  checking 
his  father  with  a  gesture,  "we  have  business  on  hand." 

"An'  wery  interestin'  business,  requirin'  wery  skillful 
performers  wersed  in  the  art,  as  King  John  said  w'en 
he  pulled  the  Jew's  teeth  at  a  thousand  crowns  a 
tooth.  Wot's  yure  plan,  son?" 


296  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Silas  leaned  over  the  table,  and  for  several  seconds 
silently  scrutinized  the  two,  turning  his  head  slowly 
from  one  to  the  other  as  he  sat  between  them.  At 
length: 

"When  did  you  leave  the  old  convent?"  he  asked 
Crouch. 

"Tuesday  morning,  ten  days  ago." 

"And  you  stopped  in  the  village?" 

"We  did,  and  got  horses  there.  They're  in  the  stable 
here,  snug  and  fresh." 

"What,  you  rode  the  same  horses  all  the  way?" 

Crouch  laughed.  "Why,  the)'  aren't  the  same  color 
they  were  when  we  started,"  said  he,  "but  we  weren't 
particular  about  that.  Likely  they'll  again  change 
color  going  back." 

"About  every  night,  hey,  Jem?"   chuckled  Joel. 

'"'About.   We  like  variety,"  answered  Crouch,  dryly. 

Silas  mused  a  moment. 

"We  shall  reach  the  village,  then,  about  one  day 
ahead  of  Walraven, ''  observed  he.  "You  are  sure  he 
started  from  Paris  by  the  slow  barge?" 

"Yes,  I  saw  him  and  his  partner,  Blount,  and  the 
girl  go  aboard,  leaving  the  preacher  behind.  I  heard 
'em  deciding  to  abandon  the  notion  of  horses  to  this 
place.  The}'  were  to  get  animals  here,  and  will  go 
through  Dijon." 

"Very  good.  We  shall  be  far  enough  in  front.  Now 
let  us  proceed  with  the  plan.  You  can  imitate  Wai- 
raven's  handwriting,  Jem?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Well,  you    are    to  write  a  letter  to  his  wife,  sign 


DANE    WALRAVEN  2Q7 

his  name  to  it,  and  deliver  it  to  her  as  soon  as  we  ar- 
rive near  the  convent.  The  letter  must  inform  her 
that  he  is  coming  for  her,  full  of  remorse,  and  that  he 
does  not  wish  to  see  Eugenie,  for  reasons  she  will  un- 
derstand. She  must  therefore  come  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  stand  on  the  'black  rock,' and  watch  his  approach 
up  the  mule  path." 

"And  then — what?" 

"You  and  father  will  go  up  by  one  way  and  I  by 
another.  I  must  not  be  seen,  you  know.  I  shall  hide 
in  the  rock-hollow  a  hundred  feet  or  so  back  from  the 
spot  where  she  is  to  stand.  Walraven  will  come  up 
directly -under  the  'black  rock. '  When  he  arrives  there, 
you  must  be  concealed  behind  the  ledge,  as  close  to 
him  as  possible.  At  the  moment  he  sees  his  wife,  I 
will  rush  toward  her  and  push  her  over  the  wall. 
When  she  falls,  she  will  be  done  for;  and  while  he  is 
wailing  over  her,  you  will  rush  in  upon  him  and  bind 
him.  I  have  laid  out  my  plan  for  disposing  of  him 
afterward,  but  I  will  not  talk  of  that  now." 

"But  the  other  cove?" 

Silas  drew  from    his    breast  a  long-barreled  pistol. 

"I  am  a  good  shot,"  said  lie,  stroking  the  shining 
barrel,  "and  while  you  are  gently  ministering  to  the 
bereaved  husband,  I  will  send  the  American  into  eter- 
nity. Look  at  this,"  continued  he,  now  producing  a 
large  ball  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  "I  have  scratched 
two  letters  on  it,  D.  W.  When  the  body  is  found,  it 
will  bear  within  the  bullet-wound  the  only  proof 
needed  to  convict  Walraven  of  murder — if  he  survives 


298  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Joel  gazed  at  his  infamous  progeny  with  looks  of 
profound  admiration. 

"Sile, "  said  he,  winking  his  ogreish  eye  horribly, 
"yure  a  gen'us,  that's  wot  yo u  air,  an'  I'm  proud  to 
be  yure  fayther. " 

Silas  made  no  reply,  but  motioned  his  "fayther"  to 
desist. 

"It  will  be  best  for  us  to  separate  just  before  we 
reach  the  village,"  said  he,  "and  not  enter  it  together. 
I  will  go  around  it,  I  think,  and  take  the  path  leading 
up  to  the  back  of  the  convent.  And  now,  as  every- 
thing is  understood  and  settled,  we  had  better  sleep." 

"Where?"  queried  Joel,  glancing  around  the  bare 
room. 

"Right  here  in  our  chairs;  we  will  not  run  the  risk 
of  oversleeping;  "  and  Silas  drew  his  own  away  from 
the  table,  tilted  his  back  to  the  wall,  and  closed  his 
eyes.  His  companions  follow'ed  his  example,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  the  three  conspirators  were  giving  noisy 
evidence  of  their  ability  to  slumber  under  any  circum- 
stances, even  burdened  as  they  were  with  crime,  and 
on  the  very  eve  of  perpetrating  new  ones. 

At  this  moment,  the  two  eyes  vanished  from  the 
closet-window. 


CHAPTER  LI 

WHAT  BEFELL  SILAS   IN    THE    JURA 

"And  now  let  Justice  don  her  gown, 
Slow-footed  priestess,  whose  late  frown 
Foredooms  the  felon;  let  the  laws 
Arm  Retribution  in  her  cause." 

— Sagg  of  Mentor. 

Thrae  travelers  were  climbing  a  rugged  path  leading 
to  a  summit  of  the  Jura  Mountains. 

On  every  side,  tall,  gnarled  trees,  blackened  and 
bent,  rose  frowningly  and  groaned  as  the  gusts  of  wind 
struck  and  swayed  their  twisted  arms. 

The  gloomy  skies  overhead  seemed  never  to  have 
felt  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  so  dark  and  full  of  murk 
they  were. 

The  weird  face  of  the  mountain  imposed  silence  on 
the  slow  toilers,  and  a  half  hour  had  passed  without  a 
word  having  been  spoken.  But  now  and  again  some 
mighty  bird  flapped  its  black  wings  over  them  and 
darted  away,  screaming  defiance  to  the  invaders  of 
their  solitude. 

At  length  the  travelers  stopped  upon  a  ledge  of  rock 
which  jutted  over  a  wall  almost  perpendicular,  the 
base  of  which  was  washed  by  a  brawling  current  of 
dark  water  hundreds  of  feet  below. 

Directly  over  the  spot  where  the  three  now  stood 
rose  a  mass  of  black  rock,  some  forty  feet  in  height, 
of  a  peculiar  shape,  and  flat  on  its  top. 

299 


3OO  DANE    WALRAVEN 

The  ledge  itself  was  perhaps  eighty  feet  in  breadth, 
and  extended  circularly  around  the  loftier  cliff,  so  that 
its  farther  extremity  could  not  be  seen  by  the  persons 
who  now  paused  to  look  into  the  chasm  beneath. 

One  of  the  three  was  a  young  woman  of  lithe  and 
graceful  figure;  and  as  she  turned  to  her  companions 
with  a  countenance  animated  by  the  scene  and  the 
effort  she  had  put  forth  to  reach  it,  her  clear  voice 
rose  and  fell  with  a  thousand  musical  vibrations 
among  the  hollows  and  jutting  spurs  that  encircled 
her. 

"What  a  wild  scene!"  she  exclaimed,  pointing  off 
to  the  right  at  an  imposing  mass  of  rocky  columns. 

"And  a  fascinating  one,  Miss  Agnes,"  observed  her 
companion  with  the  yellow  locks.  "It  seems  to  me  that 
Peace  must  have  her  home  up  there." 

"Oh,  if  that  is  her  home,  she  must  be  a  creature  of 
many  habitations,  for  we  have  seen  in  the  Rockies  and 
in  the  Sierras,  a  dozen  scenes  as  lonely,  grand  and 
imposing  as  that  one  yonder,  haven't  we,  pop?" 

"I  reckon  you're  right,  daughter,"  responded  the 
latter,  looking  off  at  the  crags  reflectively. 

A  moment  later  his  gaze  fell  upon  the  path  directly 
beneath  him,  which  wound,  with  many  contortions, 
upward  toward  the  farther  extremity  of  the  ledge,  and 
he  gave  a  start  of  surprise. 

"What  is  that  object  moving  up  from  below?"  he 
asked,  abruptly. 

"Look,  look,  Mr.  Walraven!"  cried  Agnes,  whose 
brilliant  eyes  were  dancing;  "it  is  not  moving  up  at 
all,  it  is  a  man  tugging  at  a  long  rope.  What  can  he 
be  doing?" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  30! 

"True,"  said  Dane,  approaching  the  edge  of  the 
plateau;  "and  by  the  expression  of  his  face  it  must  be 
some  deadly  work  he  is  at.  But — merciful  heaven,  it 
is  Vincent!" 

The  man  had  been  gradually  creeping  backward 
along  the  craggy  path,  and  with  his  head  thrown  back, 
was  gazing  upward  toward  the  end  of  the  rope,  which 
appeared  to  be  at  a  level  with  the  top  of  the  ledge. 
In  this  attitude  his  face  became  plainly  visible,  and 
Dane  had  recognized  the  features  of  Charlie  Vincent, 
the  ward  of  the  city  marshal  of  Boston,  now  a  stal- 
wart and  handsome  man,  but  at  this  moment  with  a 
countenance  absolutely  fearful  in  its  revengeful  and 
desperate  expression. 

What  could  he  be  doing?  How  came  he  there? 
were  questions  that  flitted  through  Dane's  mind,  as  he 
hurried  along  the  curving  ledge,  with  Agnes  and  her 
father  close  behind  him.  In  a  few  seconds  they  had 
turned  the  curve,  and  the  spectacle  at  which  they  now 
excitedly  gazed  was  a  strange  and  thrilling  one. 

The  upper  end  of  the  rope  was  fastened  around  the 
body  of  a  man  in  such  a  way  as  to  pinion  his  arms  to 
his  sides,  rendering  him  entirely  helpless.  He  indeed 
appeared  to  have  no  life  in  his  body,  since  there  was 
no  show  of  resistance  whatever,  as  it  was  slowly 
dragged  forward  toward  the  edge  of  the  cliff  by  the 
man  below. 

Agnes  was  the  first  to  espy  the  fearful  object,  and 
she  started  back  with  horror. 

"Heavens,"  cried  she,   "it  is   a  man!" 

"So  it  is." 


302  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Colonel  Blount's  exclamation  was  peculiar;  so  was 
the  look  in  his  face.  He  stood  watching  the  murder- 
ous spectacle  with  evident  satisfaction,  with  no  ap- 
parent intention  of  interfering. 

Dane  and  Agnes  regarded  him  with  amazement. 

"Oh,  pop!  "  cried  the  latter,  her  handsome  face  pal- 
ing, "why  do  you  act  so?  Are  you  going  to  see  the 
man  drawn  over  the  precipice?" 

"Wait,"  returned  he,  glancing  at  Walraven,  who 
looked  on  as  if  petrified.  "Now,  look  closely,  and  see 
if  he  is  worth  saving." 

"Silas  Thorp!"  shouted  Dane,  suddenly  bounding 
to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  leaning  over  it  at  the  risk 
of  losing  his  balance. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  colonel,  "he  is  cheating  the 
hangman,  but  sparing  you  any  further  trouble.  It  will 
soon  be  up  with  him.  Ten  feet  more,  and  over  he'll 

go-" 

"Horrible!"  gasped  the  girl,  fascinated  by  the  sight. 
But  she  instantly  recovered  her  presence  of  mind,  and 
with  a  final  entreaty  directed  to  her  companions  to  go 
to  the  rescue,  she  darted  along  the  face  of  the  ledge, 
veering  around  the  curve  close  to  the  overhanging 
rock,  and  vanished  down  a  steep  path  covered  with 
huge  bowlders. 

"What  in  God's  name  is  the  girl  after  now?"  ex- 
claimed her  father,  with  a  groan  of  apprehension  for 
her  safety,  as  he  and  Dane  rushed  after  her. 

As  they  turned  the  curve,  the  question  was  answered 
by  what  they  saw. 

Dashing  down  the    sideling    steep  with  the  nimble 


DANE    WALRAVEN  303 

grace  and  boldness  of  the  chamois,  Agnes  was  swiftly 
making  her  way  toward  the  helpless  victim  of  Vin- 
cent's unaccountable  vengeance,  who  to  all  appear- 
ances was  already  lifeless. 

Meantime,  at  the  other  end  of  the  rope,  Vincent 
was  straining  with  an  unhalting  step  to  carry  out  his 
fearful  purpose,  winding  the  rope  about  his  wrist  again 
and  again,  as  it  slipped  off  with  each  rebound  of  the 
body  over  the  bowlders,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  mur- 
derous fury,  and  bent  unwaveringly  upon  its  doomed 
object. 

Agnes  had  uttered  no  cry,  had  glided  down  the  side 
of  the  cliff  as  silently  as  though  shod  with  velvet,  and 
stood  now,  not  twenty  feet  away  from  the  body,  .but 
effectually  separated  from  it  by  an  intervening  gulch. 
Then  she  raised  her  voice  to  a  shout: 

"Stop — for  God's  sake,  stop!  " 

With  a  quick  upward  glance,  in  which  there  was  a 
momentary  surprise,  Vincent  slightly  relaxed  his 
efforts. 

For  one  moment  only.  Then,  with  a  sudden  jerk- 
ing motion,  in  which  he  seemed  to  put  forth  an  energy 
of  strength  that  was  superhuman,  he  sprang  back- 
ward, and  the  body  of  Silas  Thorp  bounded  over  the 
ledge. 

From  the  very  edge  of  the  precipice  the  two  men 
watched  it  rebound  from  rock  to  rock,  until  it  plunged 
into  the  brown  waters  below,  and  disappeared  forever. 


CHAPTER  LIT 

\ 

THE  FIGURE  ON  THE  "BLACK  ROCK" 

When  the  last  reverberations  had  died  away  with 
the  plunging  of  Silas  Thorp's  body  into  the  black 
stream  at  the  bottom  of  the  cliff,  the  slayer  uncovered 
his  head,  and  wiped  from  his  forehead  the  perspiration 
gathered  there.  Then,  replacing  his  hat,  he  slowly 
climbed  to  the  spot  where  Agnes  still  stood  listening 
for  some  further  sound  from  the  abyss.  His  white 
skin,  very  unlike  that  of  the  weather-stained  mount- 
aineer his  dress  had  suggested,  gave  Agnes  a  new  sur- 
prise. As  he  approached  her,  she  fixed  her  black  eyes 
upon  him,  with  solemn  inquiry,  and  asked,  almost 
in  a  whisper: 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

Vincent  regarded  her  with  a  look  as  solemn  as  her 
own,  and  answered: 

"It  was  an  awful  thing  to  do,  but  it  had  to  be  done. 
Let  us  go  to  the  convent  above,  and  I  will  explain  it 
all  to  your  friends  and  you." 

He  offered  her  his  hand,  to  assist  her  up  the  rocky 
way,  but  with  a  repugnant  gesture  she  refused  it,  and 
walked  at  his  side  in  silence. 

At  the  top  of  the  ledge,  they  met  Colonel  Blount 
and  Walraven;  and  Vincent  and  the  latter  immediately 
greeted  each  other  as  old  acquaintances. 

304 


DANE    WALRAVEN 


305 


"I  knew  you  were  here,"  remarked  Vincent,  as  they 
walked  forward,  "and  I  expected  to  find  you  up  yon- 
der," pointing  toward  the  highest  level  of  the  spur. 
"But  since  you  are  all  together,  I  will  explain  mat- 
ters before  we  go  up  to—the  others." 

"The  others"  meant  Eugenie  and  Eleanor,  and  the 
words  were  spoken  hesitatingly,  and  with  constraint. 

To  Dane  it  was  evident  that  Vincent  knew  every- 
thing of  his  history  and  of  his  movements. 

"Go  on,  then,"  said  he,  in  subdued  tones,  expecting 
to  hear  revelations  both  painful  and  startling;  and  he 
was  not  disappointed. 

Vincent  drew  from  his  pocket  a  silver  repeater,  and 
glancing  at  the  time,  observed: 

"It  is  twelve  o'clock.  In  half  an  hour  there  will  be 
two  more  of  your  acquaintances  in  this  immediate 
neighborhood;  I  have  just  time  enough  for  my  story 
before  they  arrive. " 

Then,  Agnes  and  her  father  having  come  up,  he 
proceeded: 

"You  will  recollect  hearing  from  Captain  Bardell 
the  story  of  the  city  marshal's  participation  in  the 
abduction  affair,  when  Joel  Thorp  and  his  pal  kid- 
naped you.  Well,  neither  Joel  nor  his  son  Silas  ever 
forgave  the  marshal,  and  from  that  time  forward  they 
sought  by  every  means  in  their  power  to  injure  or  to 
destroy  him.  They  were  finally  only  too  successful. 

"You  know  that  the  marshal  adopted  me  as  his  son. 
Well,  we  were  the  same  in  feeling  toward  each  other 
as  father  and  son;  his  affection  for  me  was  sincere 
and  disinterested,  and  the  gratitude  I  at  first  felt  for 


306  DANE    WALRAVEN 

the  benefits  he  conferred  upon  me  deepened  into  love; 
and  he  was  worthy  of  it. 

"Before  Silas  Thorp  left  Boston,  in  fact  on  the  very 
night  after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Bardell,  he  came  to  the 
marshal's  house,  and  asked  to  see  him.  The  marshal 
was  already  suspicious  of  him,  believing  that  he  had 
some  secret  in  his  life  not  at  all  to  his  credit,  at  least, 
but  knowing  him  only  as  Doctor  Pelham.  The  con- 
duct of  the  man  during  that  visit  was  so  singular  that 
he  was  closely  watched,  both  by  the  marshal  and  my- 
self, and  when  he  left  the  house  the  marshal  said  to 
me: 

'Charlie,  I  believe  that  man  is  not  the  person  he 
represents  himself  to  be;  and  I  believe  he  came  here 
to  assassinate  me!' 

"I  was  greatly  shocked  at  this,  but  the  marshal's 
manner  was  so  earnest  I  believed  he  had  some  foun- 
dation for  his  suspicions.  Nothing  further  occurred, 
however,  and  we  soon  heard  of  the  revelations  made 
by  Mrs.  Bardell  as  to  Doctor  Pelham's  identity,  and 
of  the  real  cause  of  the  captain's  death;  but  Silas  had 
disappeared,  as  had  all  the  rest  of  the  brood,  and  we 
supposed  there  was  an  end  of  the  case. 

"After  the  marshal's  retirement  from  his  office, 
seven  years  ago,  he  lived  quietly  in  Boston,  where 
I  had  engaged  in  business,  and  the  lives  of  both  of  us 
were  as  peaceful  as  we  could  wish,  except  for  the  death 
of  his  wife,  which  happened  two  years  ago.  That  event 
left  the  old  gentleman  low-spirited;  and  last  summer 
I  persuaded  him  to  take  a  trip  with  me  to  England. 

"We  came  to  London;  and  in  October  went  down  tQ 


DANE    WALRAVEN  307 

Winchester  to  see  you,  anticipating  a  great  amount  of 
pleasure  from  our  visit.  I  will  candidly  confess  that 
we  were  painfully  shocked  at  the  story  of  your  mis- 
fortunes— and  your  wife's;  and  we  hastened  back  to 
London. 

"One  foggy  night,  about  six  o'clock,  we  were  pa~s- 
ing  through  Regent's  Park  on  our  way  to  our  lodgings 
in  St.  John's  Wood  Road,  Portland  Town,  when  a 
man  sprang  into  the  path  from  the  grove  on  our  right, 
and  drove  a  knife  into  the  marshal's  side. 

"By  the  lights  from  the  windows  of  the  Clergy  Or- 
phan School  opposite  the  park  entrance,  I  caught  a 
moment's  glimpse  of  the  assassin's  face,  before  he 
turned  away.  It  was  the  face  of  Doctor  Pelham! 

"The  murderer  ran  out  of  the  park  and  into  Well- 
ington Place,  followed  by  a  number  of  people  brought 
to  the  spot  by  my  outcries,  while  I  remained  with 
my  benefactor.  With  assistance  at  hand,  we  bore  him 
into  the  Orphan  School  building,  where  the  murderer's 
knife  was  withdrawn;  and  inside  of  an  hour  I  was 
alone.  Then,  looking  down  on  the  dead  face  of  the 
noble  friend  I  had  lost,  I  uttered  an  oath  of  vengeance 
against  his  murderer,  who,  I  believed,  had  escaped 
Such  was  the  fact;  and  I  began  my  search  for  him. 

"I  traced  him  from  place  to  place,  finally  to  Paris. 
There,  in  a  parcel  office,  I  saw  a  box  on  which  his  in- 
famous name  was  painted.  I  watched  the  office,  saw 
you  and  your  three  friends  enter,  and  recognized 
Dane  Walraven. 

"When  Silas  Thorp  took  the  box  away,  I  followed 
after  his  cab.  He  dogged  you  to  your  hotel,  then  went 


308  DANE    WALRAVEN 

to  the  Quai  d'Orsay,  where  he  wrote  the  letter  you 
received,  which  he  gave  to  a  boy  to  deliver,  and  was 
then  joined  by  Joel  Thorp  and  Crouch. 

"i  bribed  the  boy  to  let  me  read  the  letter  then,  re- 
sealed  and  addressed  it,  and  it  went  to  youthat  night. 
The  three  wretches  took  the  barge  to  Auxerre,  and  I 
slipped  on  board  and  kept  out  of  sight,  preceding 
them  to  the  inn,  where  I  later  on  heard  their  plot  to 
destroy  you  and  your  wife.  I  followed  them  on  to  the 
village  yonder,  keeping  them  in  view  day  after  day, 
until  they  arrived  last  night.  Then  I  went  to  the  land- 
lord of  the  inn  at  which  the  father  and  Crouch 
stopped,  told  him  they  were  escaped  murderers,  and 
induced  him  to  send  'for  two  gendarmes  to  hold  them 
until  your  arrival.  They  are  down  there,  in  the  hands 
of  the  soldiers,  who  await  your  coming. 

"I  lost  track  of  Silas  last  night,  but  went  on  up  the 
mountain  this  morning,  and  found  him  asleep  in  a  hol- 
low near  the  old  convent.  I  bound  his  hands  and  feet 
without  waking  him,  and  then  roused  him.  The  rage 
and  astonishment  of  the  wretch  were  beyond  descrip- 
tion. He  raved  like  a  maniac,  cursed  and  taunted  me, 
struggled  to  free  himself,  and  ended  by  mockingly  re- 
hearsing his  horrible  deed  in  the  park!  I  became 
maddened,  caught  up  a  coil  of  rope  which  he  had 
brought  with  him — no  doubt  for  some  murderous  pur- 
pose— and  tied  it  about  him,  then  started  to  drag  him 
down  the  mountain.  Doubtless  he  knew  his  doom 
was  certain,  whether  I  or  the  law  had  him;  for  he 
railed  at  me  as  I  dragged  him  along,  telling  me  that 
he  had  intended  to  swing  you  over  the  cliff,  bound 


DANE    WALRAVEN  309 

hand  and  foot,  and  to  leave  you  there  for  the  vultures! 
I  feared  to  let  such  a  fiend  live  and — I  drew  him  do\vn 
the  cliff  and  over  the  precipice." 

As  Vincent  stopped  speaking,  he  turned  his  eyes 
toward  the  black  rock  above,  started,  and  exclaimed: 

"Look!     And  remember  that  I  saved  you    both." 

On  the  verge  of  the  rock  stood  the  woman  in  gray, 
looking  down  upon  their  upturned  faces  with  a  scared 
face,  with  distended  eyes,  with  outspread  hands. 

At  the  sight  of  her — his  wife — Dane  Walraven 
uttered  a  frightful  cry,  and  fell  back  into  his  friend's 
arms;  but  without  heeding  this,  Agnes  darted  around 
the  base  of  the  rock,  and  in  a  minute  more  had  ap- 
peared on  the  summit.  Before  Eleanor  could  retreat, 
Agnes  had  caught  her  by  both  arms,  and  held  her  with 
a  strength  she  in  vain  struggled  to  overcome. 

The  next  instant,  Vincent  had  reached  the  two,  and 
together  they  led  the  trembling  woman  down  the 
rock-strewn  path  to  the  spot  where  her  husband  lay 
white  as  marble,  and  as  rigid. 

Eleanor's  eyes  wandered  a  moment  over  the  faces  of 
the  speechless  group,  as  if  pleading  for  an  explanation. 
Her  clouded  reason  for  a  few  moments  even  prevented 
her  from  seeing  what  lay  at  her  feet.  She  seemed 
petrified  with  fear,  and  a  low,  hysterical  laugh  issued 
from  her  open  lips. 

With  a  sob  of  uncontrollable  grief,  Agnes  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  arm  that  hung  listlessly  at  her  side, 
and  whispered: 

"Do  you  not  know  him — your  husband?" 

A  gleam  of    light  came    into     the  dark    eyes;  they 


3IO  DANE    WALRAVEN 

settled  upon  the  prostrate  and  rigid  figure  over  which 
the  two  men  knelt,  and  with  a  cry  of  anguish  she 
threw  herself  upon  it. 

"Oh,  God!  Oh,  God!"  she  screamed,  pressing  her 
hands  upon  his  haggard  face,  "I  have  killed  him!" 

The  next  instant  she  lay  at  his  side,  and  the  two 
white  faces  were  as  those  of  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  LIII 

LOOK  ON   THIS    PICTURE,    READER,   THEN — ADIEU 

"No  doubt  by  this  time  he's  been  doing  mischief — 
Aha!    there's  a  young  woman  at  his  kerchief, 
Teaching  the  parson  how  to  tie  a  knot, 
For  dominie  stands  by,  as  if  'twere  in  the  plot. 

— Fair  Felix. 

Winchester  was  agog. 

The  staid  old  cathedral  town  was  in  a  state  of  so- 
cial ebullition.  Groups  of  grave  citizens  stood  on  the 
streets,  discussing  a  subject  the  merest  mention  of 
which  sent  business  to  the  dogs,  and  secured  the  in- 
stant attention  of  the  busiest  tradesman. 

What  was  the  cause  of  all  this  commotion? 

A  hundred  tongues  were  ready  to  tell  the  humblest 
beggar  who  asked  for  news  instead  of  alms.  The 
gossips  of  the  town  flew  hither  and  thither  in  house- 
raiment,  but  never  so  much  as  an  eyebrow  was  raised 
at  the  bonnet  awry  or  the  gown  unstayed,  if  the  wearer 
brought  news.  Toilets  were  forgotten,  business  was 
suspended,  dinners  were  neglected;  and  every  face  wore 
a  triple  expression — amazement,  awe,  incredulity. 

Two  men,  clad  in  the  garb  of  sailors,  came  with  a 
rolling  gait  toward  the  "Black  Swan"  Inn,  just  off  a 
ship  at  Southampton.  Near  the  inn  they  stopped  to 
inquire  "what  was  going  on  in  the  dum  town?" 

A  ready  tongue  informed  them: 

311 


DANE    WALRAVEN 

"At  Walraven  House,  out  yonder  by  the  Itchen,  the 
mistress  died  ten  months  ago,  and  was  laid  away  safe 
and  snug  in  the  family  vault,  on  the  day  of  the  earth- 
quake hereabouts.  That  night,  her  body  was  burned 
to  ashes,  because  the  lightning  struck  the  vault,  and 
the  earthquake  threw  it  down.  It  was  positively  true; 
the  coffin  and  the  body  were  both  consumed. 

"Well,  to-day  the  mistress  came  to  life  again.  She 
is  there — at  Walraven  House,  and  her  husband  is 
there;  a  live  man  and  a  ghost,  mayhap.  But  it  is  a 
resurrection;  the  days  of  miracles  have  returned!'" 

The  two  men  had  listened  attentively.  But  they 
showed  neither  awe  nor  astonishment,  simply  fear. 
They  stared  into  each  others'  weather-beaten  faces,  and 
one  of  them  said,  in  a  hoarse  whisper: 

"Curse  'em,  they'll  have  us  again,  if  we  don't  make 
tracks.  It  were  hard  enough  to  slip  them  French 
bagonets,  but  it  will  be  'arder  'ere.  Blast  m'  eyes, 
wot's  become  o'  Sile,  that  he  didn't  warn  us  the  cove 
wos  a  comin'  'ome?" 

"Perhaps  they've  got  him,"  snarled  the  other;  "but 
come  along,  let's  make  for  the  station.  We  must  get 
aboard  the  dickey  and  put  for  the  Isle." 

They  were  hurrying  on  toward  the  station,  at  every 
step  casting  uneasy  glances  around  them,  and  mutter- 
ing curses  upon  their  "bloody  luck, "when  a  squad  of 
constables  approached  them,  headed  by  a  sergeant  and 
a  man  in  civilian's  dress. 

The  civilian  was  Dane  Walraven.  As  he  crossed 
the  street  toward  the  sailors,  his  dark  eyes  lost  their 
natural  tints  and  became  balls  of  flame. 


1>ANE    WALRAVEN  31^ 

"At  last!"  he  exclaimed,  holding  himself  back  with 
a  mighty  effort,  as  he  looked  into  the  faces  of  his 
mother's  and  his  father's  murderers. 

"Who  be  these,  your  worship?"  inquired  the  sergeant, 
eyeing  his  prospective  game  with  professional  satis- 
faction. 

"They  are  the  murderers  we  are  after — James  Crouch 
and  Joel  Thorp,"  returned  Walraven,  "take  them!" 

The  sailors  had  stopped,  dumfounded  by  this  sudden 
irruption  of  their  enemies. 

"Give  'em  the  darbies,  you  fellers!  "  commanded  the 
sergeant;  and  without  a  movement  of  resistance,  the 
fetters  were  slipped  on  the  brawny  wrists,  and  the 
prisoners  were  led  briskly  down  the  street. 

As  they  were  hurried  along,  Joel  succeeded  in  recov- 
ering his  breath,  and  turning  his  head,  yelled  hoarsely : 

"Oh,  you're  in  for  it,  yet.  There's  one  of  us  left, 
an'  he'll  find  ye,  curse  ye!" 

That  was  a  gala-night  at  Walraven  House.  From 
every  window  streamed  a  golden  flood  of  light  from 
sconce  and  candlestick.  In  the  long  dining  hall  tables 
were  spread  with  snowy  damask,  decked  with  flowers 
of  every  hue  and  perfume,  loaded  with  dainty  fruits 
and  condiments.  Servants  flitted  through  the  passages 
and  halls  with  noiseless  feet  and  smiling  faces,  or 
tripped  up  and  down  the  staircases  on  many  and  mys- 
terious errands.  A  tall  butler  in  blue  and  buff  livery 
came  into  the  dining-hall  from  time  to  time  to  inspect 
with  professional  eye  the  arrangement  of  the  table  up 
on  which  dinner  was  soon  to  be  served. 

It  was  to  be  a  dinner  of  thanksgiving;  and    the  first 


314  DANE    WALRAVEN 

course  was  to  appear  on  the  table  at  precisely  six,  to 
as  many  plates.  It  was  now  five  o'clock  and  thirty 
minutes,  as  the  butler  informed  the  cook,  by  messenger 
(the  dignity  of  his  office  not  permitting  him  to  visit 
the  kitchen),  and  the  terrapin  must  be  brought  on  in 
just  twenty-three  minutes. 

Five  minutes  after  this  important  announcement  the 
front  door  knocker  sent  its  miniature  thunder  through 
the  house,  and  as  the  call  was  answered  by  a  footman, 
a  fresh,  ringing  voice  exclaimed: 

"Gingham,  as  I   live!  " 

And  then  there  was  a  merry  laugh  that  startled  the 
echoes,  waking  some  that  had  slept  in  unvisited 
corners  and  chambers  for  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

"Well,  G.  Ingham,"  resumed  the  voice,  after  the 
echoes  had  gone  to  sleep  again,  "so  you've  changed 
your  vocation  and  I  will  have  to  get  another  groom 
and  champion." 

"Oh,  miss,  I'll  do  your  fighting  if  you  please — 
atween  and  atwixt  me  dooties  'ere,"  responded  the 
footman,  with  subdued  heartiness. 

"Thanks,  Gingham.  But  we  are  here  now  on  a  mis- 
sion of  peace.  You've  had  no  occasion,  I  hope,  to  tap 
the  claret  since  I  left  Winchester,  have  you?" 

"Waunce,  miss,  begging  your  parding. " 

"Really!"  with  intense  interest  in  the  soft  tones. 
"And  pray,  whose  did  you  spill,  Gingham?" 

"It  were  the  gardener's,  miss.  He  said  as  'ow  he'd 
put  a  nose  on  me." 

"A  nose  on  you!  That's  rich.  Now,  Gingham,  if 
he  had  offered  to  take  some  off,  he  would  have  done 


DANE    WALRAVEN 


315 


you  a  favor,"  glancing  at  the  footman's  extraordinary 
proboscis. 

"Me  nose  is  not  at  all  in  me  way,  miss,"  returned  he, 
with  lugubrious  gravity,  resuming  his  ramrod  attitude 
suddenly. 

"Keep  it  all,  then,  Gingham,"  said  Miss  Agnes,  con- 
descendingly. "Where's  Mr.  Doolittle  and  my  father?" 

"In  the  library,  miss,  with  Mr.  Walraven." 

"And  Mrs.  Walraven?" 

"In  the  library  with  the  gentlemen,  miss." 

"And  Mrs.  Cavendish?" 

"Oh,  the  'ousekeeper.  She's  in  the  dining-hall, 
waiting  to  receive  the  dishes  as  they  comes  in  'ot. " 

"You'll  pass,  Gingham,"  and  Miss  Agnes  swept  into 
the  library  at  the  moment  dinner  was  announced. 
Then,  six  smiling  people  took  their  places  at  the 
flower-laden  table  in  the  center.  Mrs.  Walraven  was 
attired  in  a  dinner  dress  of  rich  wine-colored  silk, 
daintily  trimmed  with  rare  old  lace,  her  beautiful  face 
warmed  by  a  faint  tinge  of  pink,  her  eyes  lustrous  and 
peaceful. 

Walraven's  face  no  longer  wore  its  hunted,  haggard 
expression,  but  all  its  lineaments  were  smooth,  while 
the  rich  hue  of  health  darkened  his  cheek,  and  hie  blue 
eyes  shone  with  happiness  and  gratitude,  as  they 
looked  into  those  of  his  wife. 

In  such  forgiveness  as  he  found  there,  surely  there 
was  sublimity;  but  then,  Eleanor  Walraven  was  the 
noblest  of  women. 

Two  months  had  been  spent  on  the  Continent,  after 
the  reunion  on  the  Jura,  Agnes  and  her  father,  and 


316  DANE    WALRAVEN 

Mr.  Doolittle  being  of  the  party.  At  Blenheim  Mrs. 
Walraven  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  an  English 
widow  lady,  who  was  then  a  governess  in  the  min- 
ister's family;  and  a  sudden  liking  for  her  induced  an 
offer  of  a  position  as  a  companion,  which  the  lady 
had  accepted.  On  the  return  to  Walraven  House,  Mrs. 
Cavendish  had  assumed  temporarily  the  charge  of  the 
house.  She  was  a  prepossessing  person,  of  perhaps 
forty,  refined  and  amiable;  and  she  had  been  accorded 
a  position  as  a  member  of  the  family. 

Mrs.  Cavendish  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table,  opposite 
the  host,  and  at  her  left  Mr.  Doolittle  had  been  placed, 
Agnes  sitting  on  his  left. 

It  was  observed  by  Agnes,  whose  eyes  were  like 
meteors,  that  the  Reverend  Ebenezer  Doolittle  and  the 
comely  widow  exchanged  frequent  amatory  glances  dur- 
ing the  meal,  and  appeared  to  have  established  rela- 
tions decidedly  confidential.  Once,  indeed,  the  young 
lady  actually  detected  them  clasping  hands  under  the 
table! 

Much  disgusted  by  this  unclerical  conduct,  Agnes 
took  the  arm  of  Mr.  Doolittle,  when  the  party  rose  to 
return  to  the  library,  and  detained  him  in  the  hall,  un- 
til the  rest  were  out  of  hearing.  Then,  releasing  him, 
she  turned  him  briskly  about,  so  that  she  faced  him. 

"Dolly,"  she  exclaimed,  frowning  with  a  severity 
that  greatly  ^abashed  him,  "you  have  been  canting  so 
long,  it  seems  impossible  for  you  to  ever  be  vertical. 
Now,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  won't  have  any  more 
such  actions  as  you  were  just  now  guilty  of  at  the 
table!  You're  a  sweet-scented  nosegay,  aren't  you?" 


DANE    WALRAVEN  317 

"Nay,  nay,  my  dear  friend,"  stammered  he,  becom- 
ing very  red,  "the— the  charms  of  Venus — " 

"Oh,  oh,  you  old  masher!"  groaned  Agnes,  horrified 
at  this  semi- confession;  "ever  since  we  left  Paris,  you 
have  been  showing  symptoms  of  this  renegadism.  But 
I  tell  you,"  with  a  stamp  of  the  little  foot,  "it  shall 
stop  right  here.  If  I  see  any  more  of  it  cropping  out 
I  shall  let  Gingham  loose,  and  he'll  shake  you  up  till 
you'll  think  you  are  crossing  a  buffalo-wallow  at  two- 
forty  in  a  butcher's  wagon! 

"Now,"  continued  the  poor  man's  trainer,  taking 
him  by  the  hand  and  drawing  him  toward  the  library 
door,  "get  that  rueful  look  off  your  face  at  once,  Dolly, 
and  —  caper. " 

Mr.  Doolittle  "capered"  in  right  lively  fashion,  glad 
to  escape  further  lecturing;  and  the  little  assembly 
was  soon  employed  in  discussing  plans  for  the  ensuing 
week. 

That  night,  when  they  were  about  to  separate  for 
their  respective  rooms,  Mr.  Walraven  asked  Mr.  Doo- 
little to  make  his  home  at  Walraven  House. 

"You  are  alone,"  said  the  grateful  host,  "and  you 
have  been  with  us  long;  we  should  miss  you  greatly." 

Mr.  Doolittle's  eyes  were  somewhat  moist,  as  he  list- 
ened to  this  kindly  talk;  but  he  shook  his  head  slow- 
ly, and  his  eyes  wandered  over  to  a  corner  of  the  room 
where  the  fair  widow  sat.  Rising  with  deliberateness, 
he  walked  with  his  old-time  dignity,  his  right  hand 
thrust  in  the  bosom  of  his  tightly-buttoned  frock  coat, 
straight  toward  the  unsuspecting  lady,  and  taking  her 
hand  "in  his,  he  led  her  up  to  Dane,  both  of  them 
blushing  rosily. 


318  DANE    WALRAVEN 

"My  kind  friend,"  said  he,  with  emotion  which  well 
became  him,  "in  declining  your  generous  invitation 
with  thanks,  it  is  meet  that  I  give  a  sufficient  reason. 
This  dear  woman  has  promised  to  accompany  me  back 
to  Boston — as  my  wife.  To-morrow  we  shall  notify  a 
minister  of  our  intention  to  unite.  Congratulate  me, 
dear  friends,  on  my  prospect  of  happiness." 

The  good  man  turned  toward  each  of  his  astonished 
auditors  with  a  beaming  countenance  and  as  he  did 
so,  they  rose  and  approached  him. 

"Dolly,"  said  Agnes,  giving  him  her  slender  hand, 
"I  was  mistaken;  you  are  excusable!" 

When  they  had  each  bid  him  godspeed,  Dane  and 
Eleanor  remained  standing,  each  holding  one  of  his 
chubby  hands. 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Dane,  with 
warmth,  "you  have  been  a  faithful  helper  to  me;  and 
when  you  go  back  to  Boston,  the  city  we  all  love  so 
well,  it  will  add,  I  doubt  not,  to  your  happiness — to 
the  happiness  of  both  of  you — to  feel  that  ours  is  re- 
stored." 

The  large  blue  eyes  of  the  worthy  gentleman  grew 
misty  as  they  wandered  affectionately  from  husband  to 
wife,  and  he  murmured  softly: 

"Whom  He  loveth,  He  chasteneth." 


THE  END 


3R     H 


»  IP 


